


What You Feel is What You Are and What You Are is Beautiful

by Curator



Series: Onassis [1]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Deltans, F/M, Philosophy, Post-Episode: s07e25 Endgame (Star Trek: Voyager), adjustment back to the Alpha Quadrant, cross-cultural romance, everyone has a past present and future, mental and physical attraction, referenced: Endgame Admiral Janeway, wait for it wait for it wait for it … mind-blowing sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:33:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22775689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curator/pseuds/Curator
Summary: He’s a brilliant dark matter researcher who finds Earth perilously different from what he knows. She’s on the planet she loves, forced into a San Francisco desk job she isn’t sure she wants. How will Iliam and Kathryn Janeway find a home with each other?Prequel toThe Tumbling Waves of San Francisco Baybut the stories can be read in any order.
Relationships: Kathryn Janeway/Original Character(s)
Series: Onassis [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1637395
Comments: 145
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laurita_ST](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurita_ST/gifts).



> For laurita_ST, who led the charge in requesting Janeway/Iliam, much to my surprise and appreciation.
> 
> This story is dedicated to anyone who has dared to love across boundaries.

It’s too quiet.

She flings back the quilt and her bare feet hit the floor. She stumbles forward, heart pounding, her hands groping for her uniform and boots. Something must be wrong with the warp core, maybe an injector or a deuterium port because they’ve been acting up lately and …

The uniform and boots aren’t here.

A hardwood floor is underfoot, not the carpet from her quarters.

She didn’t have a quilt on the ship. 

And it’s quiet because … because this is Earth, not _Voyager_. There is no warp core, no engineering.

Her hands cover her mouth.

She staggers. 

The bed catches the backs of her knees. As she falls, as tears well in the corners of her eyes, as her hair swings forward and her shoulders arc downward, all Kathryn Janeway can think is, _I can’t. I can’t. I can’t._

***

“Good morning, Admiral.”

“Good morning, Lieutenant.”

The officer hands Kathryn a padd, then moves on to greet and issue padds to other admirals assembling for the morning briefing.

Admiral Hayes takes fifteen minutes to explain what he could have reviewed in five. 

Admiral Brand discusses the importance of teaching rotations at Starfleet Academy.

Admiral Paris … oh, God. Kathryn agreed to have breakfast with him after the briefing.

Words. Maps. Diagrams. Reports fade into each other and the meeting is adjourned.

“Kathryn,” Admiral Paris calls, “wait a moment, won’t you?”

He confabs with other senior admirals, professional friendships he allows her to observe but not join. Kathryn waits in her seat, tapping a padd and pretending she isn’t eavesdropping on their conversation about racquetball and whether the San Francisco fog is colder than it was this time last year.

This time last year, she was on the other side of the galaxy.

“Ready?” Admiral Paris asks when the other officers amble toward the door.

Kathryn looks up from her padd. “Yes, sir.”

Small talk. 

Tom, B’Elanna, and Miral enjoying opportunities on Bajor.

Phoebe’s baby.

The continued popularity of Julia’s exhibit on mid-twentieth century Earth architecture and Admiral Paris’ strong suggestion for Kathryn to attend, particularly on a weekend when he volunteers as a docent. 

It’s only when they slide into a booth at the commissary that he begins the speech she has been waiting for him to deliver.

“Your dedication has been exemplary, Kathryn. Three months at headquarters and you’ve never missed a briefing, never been late to a meeting. However,” he pours cream into his coffee and stirs, sunlight from the windows glinting off the metal spoon, “when it comes to your work itself, there are some concerns.”

She sips her orange juice without tasting it.

“What do you feel is the problem, sir?”

She knows the problem.

What she wants is the goddamn solution.

Admiral Paris’ spoon dips into his porridge. Kathryn watches the raised, blue veins on his hand as he brings the bite of breakfast to his lips. He chews so slowly, lays down his spoon so carefully, that Kathryn wonders if he’ll ignore her question. 

“Critiquing your own leadership is key to being able to transition from captaincy to admiralty. But your reports are overlong with unclear conclusions. For example, the most recent one on the Sikarian spatial trajector — was your command decision correct or incorrect and why? What is the relevance to Starfleet? You’re weeks behind where you should be and that’s not like you.”

Her arms cross. “Sir, I petitioned for a sabbatical, for time to consider the promotion before accepting it. Since that was denied, I’ve been trying to —”

Admiral Paris’ hand slams the table so hard his porridge jumps and his coffee sloshes over the rim of its cup. “Is that an excuse?”

“No, sir.” She snaps to attention even though she’s sitting, back ramrod straight and arms at her sides.

“Good. Because you can either tell me what the hell’s wrong or you can perform the work that will pave the way for the rest of your career.” Admiral Paris stands, so Kathryn scrambles to her feet. “It’s your choice.”

He strides away, his spilled coffee spreading across the table, the dark liquid catching light from the sun.

***

“He said it was my choice, but then he left. So what the hell was I supposed to do? Chase him down and say, ‘Sir, I’ve been contemplating these questions for years. I can’t distill an answer for you because I can’t distill it for me’?”

Kathryn leans on her sister’s shoulder as they walk.

Phoebe’s arm hugs Kathryn’s waist. “He’s a jerk. He’s always been a jerk. You just forget because he looks like a white-haired grandpa and he’s all sweet until one little thing pisses him off and then he starts yelling. Remember the time you misaligned the positronic relays on the _Al-Batani_?”

The sisters mimic Admiral Paris’ gravelly shout. “Six decks lost power due to your incompetence, Ensign. You’re on report!”

Kathryn kicks at the ground. Puffs of dirt rise and settle on her boots. “I tell you too much, Phoebe.”

“Nah.”

It wasn’t always like this. 

After their father died, the sisters began to talk to each other in a way they never had when one could be the favorite of their mother and the other the favorite of their father. The key was Phoebe’s generosity, Kathryn believes, to forgive an older sister who had always been too sensitive, though Phoebe has said it was Kathryn’s kindness to forgive a younger sister who had always been too blunt. So the sensitive one became more blunt and the blunt one became more sensitive and this evening they walk through the cornfields beyond the backyard of their childhood home because their mother is babysitting Phoebe’s two-month-old and neither sister wants to deal with the fussy baby unless she has to.

“What did the counselor say?” Phoebe asks. 

The grey shoulders of Kathryn’s uniform rise and fall. “To reapply for the sabbatical when my work proves I’ve earned it.”

“That makes no sense.”

“I know.”

They walk on, their fingers trailing along green leaves of corn stalks as shades of purple darken in the Indiana sky. 

***

Kathryn hunches into the wind. It’s earlier in San Francisco than it was in Bloomington, but it should be late enough to avoid seeing anyone she knows. The hilly, misty, quirky city is among her favorites, but it can feel like a Starfleet-issue fishbowl.

All those years on _Voyager_ yearning for someone of equal or higher rank and now she doesn’t want to talk to any of them.

She misses Tuvok, who is as pleased as a Vulcan can be as husband, father, grandfather — and weapons studies instructor at the Vulcan Institute of Science. 

She misses Chakotay, who joined members of the Federation Archaeology Council converging on unsealed ruins on Tagus III. Seven went with him, eager to share insights on related species’ development prior to assimilation by the Borg.

She misses Tom, easy to talk with and easy on the eyes, and B’Elanna, always intent on solving any problem.

Harry comms her, sometimes, but she lies and tells him she’s fine. Burdening Harry would be unfair when he’s finally able to pursue the career advancement that wasn’t possible in the Delta Quadrant.

She even misses the Doctor, though he’s the busiest of everyone. Per their peace treaty with the Federation, holographic dilithium miners agreed to resettle within the existing photonic society on the Rurigan planet — with the Doctor as their leader, a role he relishes.

The wind is whipping Kathryn’s hair and she remembers why she pinned it back when she spent more time in San Francisco. 

More time? She reminds herself she’s lived here for three months already. The first month at home was spent waiting for Starfleet to process medical and security clearances for crewmembers to disembark _Voyager_ , in post-mission review board hearings, and in Bloomington before her promotion allowed her to access admiral-level Starfleet housing.

That means it’s been four months since she’s had a cup of coffee. 

Goddamn.

She walks past the electronic posters outside the San Francisco campus of the Daystrom Institute. One promotes an upcoming lecture on massive compact halo objects.

Kathryn stops and reads, one hand keeping her hair from blowing into her eyes. 

“Join Dr. Iliam for an engaging presentation, plus question and answer session about the interstellar bodies nicknamed MACHOs. This Thursday, 1900 hours, Auditorium 4, or watch on the Daystrom channel on your computer terminal.”

She’s always been interested in MACHOs, even choosing to study the dark matter phenomenon for her junior thesis at the academy. Catching up on seven years of scientific discoveries has meant stacks of journals and reports. 

Maybe a lecture would be fun?

She makes a mental note and walks on into the wind and the black night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize MACHO stands for the newer name for the phenomenon: massive astrophysical compact halo object. I’m keeping the old name because I’m working with beta canon developed decades ago — and I’m not even going to get into the debate over whether MACHOs exist. In beta canon Star Trek, they do. (But I like the new acronym because it’s sexy ... in a Howdy Doody kind of way....)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pictured Iliam as your basic super-hot, middle-aged, Middle Eastern guy. But, after I finished this story, I saw a Star Trek post about Captain Robau and I stopped breathing for a second. Because, eye color aside, [Faran Tahir is exactly how I envisioned Iliam](https://imagesvc.timeincapp.com/v3/fan/image?url=https:%2F%2Fredshirtsalwaysdie.com%2Ffiles%2F2018%2F12%2Fcaptain-robau.jpg&w=850&h=560&c=s).

It is too late to be at the office, but Iliam’s fingers drum on his desk as he waits for his computer to generate a rendering of one of the earliest MACHOs detected by Earth astrophysicists. Microlensing amplification of light is an antiquated detection technique, but historical context is important. 

At least, it is to Iliam.

The rendering appears on his screen.

Iliam zooms in on grid 365-beta.

He squints. 

His forehead sinks into his hands.

“Computer,” Iliam’s voice is low and his Deltan accent is thick, “reimage grid 365-beta to accuracy at the time of discovery.”

“Grid reimaging in progress.”

“Time to completion?”

“Twenty-three minutes.”

He shakes his bald head, still hammocked in his hands.

Why?

Why is he on this planet with its antiquated computer infrastructure, its teeming population, its parched geography?

Because there was a lab directorship in MACHO research.

And the chance to lead study on dark matter makes time on Earth worth the sacrifices.

His decision to come here was correct.

Iliam stands and stretches, muscles forged by years of hoisting seaweed-laden nets pulled taut as he arcs to one side, then the other. His hands have long since lost their callouses, but his body remembers the manual labor that was his privilege as a member of a thriving village.

He plucks his jacket from its place on his chair. If he does not leave now, the ferry will stop running and Iliam will have to use the transporter. A quick, brisk walk, he tells himself, then he can wait in the warm ferry terminal for the last boat of the night.

His mental barriers have been up since early this morning, but Iliam has been alone in his office for hours, so he double-checks. It frightens him, a little, to move about without being able to sense other people except by sight, sound, or smell. The mental barriers are exhausting, but his telepathic and empathic abilities are ill-suited to the demands of Earth.

“Life is so different on this planet,” he murmurs as one arm, then the other, disappears into a jacket sleeve.

His jitters about this presentation, for example, are unlike him. Iliam has given hundreds of lectures, many of them on MACHOs. Yet, he is nervous, as if something important is going to happen, something good.

A silly notion, he chides himself as he zips up his jacket. 

Iliam turns off his office light and closes the door.

***

“I am merely suggesting a visit home might remind you of the delights you have left behind. The waters call for you.”

Despite three months on Earth, it is still odd for Iliam to hear his father’s voice instead of simply receiving his thoughts. But Deltan mental abilities don’t work through a comm channel, so Iliam looks at his father and over the older man’s shoulder to the waters.

Unlike Earth, with its bloated landmasses, Delta IV is mostly ocean with chains of island archipelagos. The waters, the source of life and death, are sacred and Iliam’s fingertips touch the screen. 

“There are waters here, too, Papa.”

He positions his computer to show his father, Enoi, the tumbling waves of San Francisco Bay.

Iliam’s favorite place on Earth is his little house on Alameda Island. The third floor is his bedroom and the walls are windows and the ceiling is a skylight. 

Here, he is among the stars with the waters below.

As life should be.

“I am pleased the Earth waters bring you happiness, Iliam, but your home beckons. When you are ready to return, your mother and I will greet you with open arms.”

“Thank you, Papa. I look forward to that day when my work here is complete.”

They incline their bald heads toward each other and end the communication.

Iliam pushes his computer to the side and looks down at the waters. He can sense the life forms within, their movement in three dimensions. The life-energy of a small fish peters out and Iliam mentally recites a short prayer in its memory.

He should be asleep.

This is a gift of Alameda Island.

Within San Francisco proper, with so many humanoids and animals awake at all hours, Iliam couldn’t relax. His mental barriers exhausted him, but lowering them allowed in a jangle of emotions and Iliam would laugh and cry and do push-ups to let off someone else’s fury and twist his fingers in someone else’s doubt. When he realized what was happening, Iliam found this house, hopeful a view of the waters and solitude would help him cope with the demands of the city.

Perhaps another year or two. Then he can bring his research home with the credentials to lead a lab on Delta IV, among his waters and his people.

Yet, Iliam stays by the window, looking not at the waters or the stars, but at the lights and buildings of San Francisco, as if there could possibly be something there he might want at this time of night.

***

“It is my pleasure to speak to you this evening about the elusive and fascinating spatial phenomenon that is the massive compact halo object.”

Iliam looks out at the crowd, a broad smile on his face. There are at least a hundred people, their features difficult to discern under the bright lights of the auditorium stage. 

And his mental barriers are so perfectly aligned that he senses nothing from them. No eagerness, no boredom — nothing.

He shares Earth’s history with MACHOs, discoveries from other sources, and the latest research. His jokes are greeted with laughter and his deep dives into data earn what he has learned is appropriate silence.

They applaud at the end, a slapping of hands Iliam reminds himself not to flinch at. The violence isn’t intended. 

The lights come up and there are questions. Iliam calls on Starfleet cadets and officers, Daystrom Institute students and professors, as well as people who simply want to learn. When there are no more questions, Iliam thanks them for attending his presentation and wishes them a good night.

They applaud again, then shuffle out, a few stopping to thank him or to ask a question they were too shy to voice in front of others.

When the room is empty, Iliam’s energy vanishes with his audience. He sags in a chair in the front row. Lowering and then repositioning his mental barriers would be too exhausting, but if he gives himself a few minutes to breathe and relax, then he can take the ferry to his little house on the island.

It is because the barriers are so strong that, when the auditorium door opens again, Iliam turns, startled.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, after I finished this story, I found out [Faran Tahir had been on Warehouse 13 with Kate Mulgrew](https://scifiandtvtalk.typepad.com/.a/6a01348361f24a970c014e8aeb84e9970d-320wi). My jaw dropped when I saw on my screen what I thought had only existed in my imagination. (Though he's five inches/almost 13 centimeters taller than she is, so hmmm on that for the photo...)

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t intend to frighten you.”

Kathryn and Iliam stare at each other. 

His hand is on his stomach, the location of the Deltan heart, and he lowers his fingers to the seat cushion. He doesn’t need his empathic abilities to understand she is experiencing guilt for surprising him. Her eyebrows are knitted together and the middle of her bottom lip is pulled behind her teeth. These are classic signs of human concern, and Iliam stands so she will know he is all right.

She watches. On her screen at headquarters, Iliam was a presenter made of pixels. Now, Kathryn can see he’s a good thirteen centimeters taller than she is and broad-chested. His humility, intelligence, and humor are still there, but he now has nuance whereas before he was simply a source of information. 

_So beautiful_ , they both think, neither aware of the other’s thoughts. 

Iliam does not usually find humans particularly attractive. All that hair on the head and body seems excessive. But the hair on this one’s head is an enchanting color, somewhere between red and brown, and it flows to her shoulders. The eyes are blue, like the waters he loves, and the nose is of pleasing shape. The body is compact, efficient, with few curves except for breasts straining against a Starfleet uniform. The mouth is small, but this is endearing, as the bottom lip returns and she speaks.

“I didn’t realize questions were limited to those in the auditorium. I rushed over from Starfleet Command, but thought more people would still be here. I’ll leave you to your tidying up.”

But she doesn’t move. 

His dark eyebrows are thick and his eyelashes are impossibly long. He’s tan and she can’t tell if it’s from sun exposure or his natural shade, but the skin looks soft. Her fingers tingle to trace the chiseled curve of his cheek. His nose is large, but it’s noble and regal and she wonders what it would feel like nuzzling her neck. Under his dress shirt she can see the outlines of strong forearms and muscled biceps. He could pick her up if he wanted to, she’s sure of it, and she could wrap her legs around his slim waist. Her tongue slides along her upper lip, and she forces her eyes upward just as his mouth arcs into a shy smile.

“It is all right.” His deep, resonant voice curls her toes in a way it didn’t when he was presenting. Then, he may as well have been an exceptionally good-looking hologram. Now, his accent thickens his words to be both formal and seductive, a tantalizing juxtaposition in a man she guesses is in his late forties. 

By the Earth calendar.

Her instincts tell her he isn’t human, even though his ears curl beautifully and his forehead is smooth.

“What was your question?” he adds when she doesn’t say anything. 

“Oh, yes.” Kathryn’s fingers remember the padd in her hand and she holds it up. “Your rendering of the early MACHOs detected in the 2140s. The image was microlensed without upscaling. How did you do that? Starfleet computers will only de-upscale grid by grid. It was my understanding that Daystrom Institute computers follow the same algorithm.”

Iliam’s eyes are dark green and the skin around them crinkles as his smile shows white, even teeth. He did not expect this question, and it is his pride and pleasure to give a clearly sophisticated mind the answer. 

“I de-upscaled grid by grid to return the image to historical accuracy. The computers on my home planet are not so,” he glances at her padd, as if the technology itself could be offended, “over-eager as the computers here. I did not know there would be a need to de-upscale until one week before my lecture.”

Through the haze in her mind, Kathryn figures that must have taken him an incredible amount of time, dedication, and attention to detail. She also catches the opportunity to find out if Iliam is human. 

“That’s, uh, very impressive.” She clears her throat. “Where is home?”

“Delta IV.”

He awaits discomfort. Too many humans believe the stories. 

Deltan pheromones drive other species mad with desire. 

Deltan telepathy and empathy can be used to guess a number at a party. 

Deltans rarely leave their homeworld because they believe they are superior to other humanoids. 

But this human smiles and it is crooked and endearing. This smile has Iliam’s heart beating faster and his ears warm with the embarrassment of just how keenly he wishes to learn how and why this exact smile can be attained again.

If his mental barriers weren’t in place, Iliam would know Kathryn is thinking about the logs of James T. Kirk, one of the few Starfleet officers to command a Deltan. Kirk wrote that, upon meeting his Deltan lieutenant for the first time, he instantly perceived her to be naked even though she was fully clothed. He attributed this to Deltan sensuality, but Kathryn is attributing it to James T. Kirk’s own personality, not the Deltan officer. 

Because if Kathryn could see through Iliam’s clothes, that would most certainly be welcome.

“I’ve never met a Deltan before,” Kathryn says. “I hope you’re enjoying your time on Earth.”

He tries to mask his emotions to avoid offense but this does not come naturally to him. Pain flashes across Iliam’s face before his features become placid again. 

“I very much like your San Francisco Bay,” he says. “The waters are a delight.”

Kathryn doesn’t spend much time by the ocean. Starfleet Command is a few kilometers inland and Bloomington is landlocked. But she nods. 

“I’m glad.”

They stand there. 

He isn’t sure of the etiquette and her words aren’t coming easily. But the thought of this compact body and sophisticated mind and crooked smile disappearing from his life causes Iliam an almost physical ache.

“Please,” he says, “I hope you will forgive if I am impolite. But have you eaten your evening meal?”

Her not-red, not-brown hair swings as her head shakes. The smile returns and, instead of being crooked, it is toothy and pleased-looking, which means his invitation was acceptable or she is not angry if he erred. It also means Iliam has now elicited two smiles from this human and he wishes to see more.

“No, I haven’t had dinner yet. Are you hungry?”

He is, but he also is exhausted from shielding himself from so many minds. This next question he knows is improper, but he cannot think of an alternative.

“I am. May I cook you a Deltan meal? My house is not far.”

The hunger low in her stomach has nothing to do with food but, despite the heat coursing through her body, Kathryn remembers a rumor about Deltans that she heard as a cadet.

Sex with a Deltan can drive a human insane. 

And, if she goes to his house tonight and he’s at all interested — she would choose insanity.

Which would be unwise. 

For reasons she’s having trouble articulating even to herself. 

She manages to say, “I don’t think that would be a good idea, but we could go out to dinner tonight or tomorrow night.”

Relief floods through him and, though she seems an astute human, he explains quickly in the hope she will not misunderstand. 

“I am very tired, so it is a delight to go to my house knowing I will see you again. A restaurant tomorrow night is a very good idea. You are likely to know the city better than I, so the location of your choice would please me. Is this all right?”

Kathryn barely knows San Francisco anymore. She eats in Bloomington or from a replicator. 

“That’s fine.” She berates herself. It’s more than fine. It’s exciting, it’s enticing, it’s the best thing that’s happened to her in months. “I’ll comm you with a place and time. What’s your frequency?”

He tells her and her fingers shake as she enters the information into her padd. She taps out a text-only communique.

“I sent you a message so you have my frequency. I look forward to dinner tomorrow.”

Iliam wishes to whisper his appreciation to every one of the long, thin fingers that created a message to connect him to this thoughtful mind in a compact body that offers entrancing smiles. 

“Thank you,” he says. “I look forward to this meal together, as well.”

Iliam directs his unsteady legs to the door. Kathryn’s feet feel glued to the floor, but she unsticks them and walks out with him. 

Neither knows what to say as they pass through the lobby, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. 

She smells like the sea lavender that grows on Delta IV.

He smells like the ocean.

The door opens and the outside humidity and wind hit them both. Neither has ever laughed at this before, but they do now, exhilarated sounds that only intensify when they look at each other.

“Tomorrow,” she says. 

“Tomorrow,” he agrees. 

They step off in different directions, both proud of their willpower for not turning to watch the other leave.

***

A few blocks from the Daystrom Institute, Kathryn stands in her apartment’s sonic shower, her palms pressed to the wall as the cycle nears completion. 

What the hell happened back there?

She’s spent the last hour researching Deltans. The Starfleet database was surprisingly deficient in cultural information, so she tried the Federation library, which was only marginally more helpful. 

What she’s pieced together is humanoid life on Delta IV evolved on small islands that trade with one another. The planet has never had a war or major disagreement, which makes sense due to abundant resources, a low birthrate, and genetic predispositions toward telepathy and empathy that induce the polite, almost aloof behavior the Starfleet database warned not to find off-putting. Because Deltans are emotionally transparent to other Deltans, they can overcompensate with humans to prove the Deltan intends no offense. The species is hairless except for eyelashes and eyebrows, and is known for achievements in mathematics and the arts, particularly jewelry-making.

Next was the information Kathryn remembered.

Sex.

The few Deltans in Starfleet — about twenty officers in more than a century of records — must swear an oath of celibacy. There is no official proof to the rumors that sex with a Deltan can render a human insane. Instead, justification for the oath stated Deltan pheromones can cause humans to develop immediate, almost-overpowering lustful urges.

Kathryn’s nose crinkled when she read that. 

Yes, she wanted to have sex with Iliam. But it didn’t start that way. It started with respect for his lecture, appreciation for his work, curiosity to know more about his historical renderings.

The shower cycle is complete and she steps out.

She researched the man, too.

Honors graduation with a doctorate in quantum cosmology from Delta IV’s University of Spatial Sciences.

On Earth under arrangement with the Daystrom Institute to lead laboratory and field research and analysis.

Best known for MACHOs, but has papers published on other dark matter phenomena. And the papers are good, showcasing insight, not ego.

When her teeth are brushed and her nightgown is on, Kathryn’s eyes narrow at her sheets and quilt.

“What will it be tonight?” she challenges the cloth. “Warp core disaster? Red alert? ‘Captain to the bridge’?”

The bedding, of course, is silent. 

But, for the first time in far too long, Kathryn considers other uses for a bed besides sleep. Her mind turns to tan skin and a regal nose and what, exactly, his trousers may have hid. As she climbs in and pulls the quilt to her shoulders, her cheeks warm and her smile is crooked. 

***

On the ferry ride to Alameda Island, Iliam curses himself. 

Dinner at the house of someone she just met? That is not the human custom. 

He was rude and must prove to her at dinner tomorrow that he is accepting of her culture, that he has researched Earth and its rules of decorum. 

He is a guest on this planet. He must behave appropriately.

Especially with her.

An unusually beautiful human.

Intelligent eyes that were soft with kindness. 

A voice like a rainstorm on the palm-leaf roof of an island hut.

Slim-hipped, with breasts that could brush his chest as his hands guided her onto his —

Iliam gasps.

He has not experienced an erection since he left Delta IV. After having one nearly every day since puberty, this is both a welcome surprise and a terrible shame. 

Humans do not show erections in public.

Iliam counts to ten in Deltan and thinks of the aching sadness his parents felt when he accepted a job off-world. His shoulders slump and he grows flaccid as he recalls the pain they and others in his village endured as he gathered his possessions and departed.

The ferry docks at the station. 

As Iliam walks the few blocks to his house, he lets his mental barriers falter and this release gives him the energy to move more quickly, to key in his code and hurry to his computer. 

There, he finds what he has been wanting to see.

**To: Iliam**  
**From: Kathryn Janeway**  
**Message: I enjoyed your lecture and chatting with you. I’ll comm you about dinner.**

He felt like a fool when he realized he never asked her name. But, here it is.

Iliam listens to a pronunciation guide. 

“Kathryn Janeway,” he repeats after the computer. 

He likes the way it sounds. 


	4. Chapter 4

On her walk to work, Kathryn stops to read menus in restaurant windows. She peeks inside to see if the seating looks comfortable. She envisions Iliam on one side of a table and herself on the other and the discussion being lighthearted and funny.

Damn, she could use some lighthearted and funny.

Of course, her sleep was disturbed. But it was later, when her stomach grumbled as she replicated breakfast, that Kathryn remembered she had forgotten to eat dinner after meeting a brilliant, handsome man.

Tall. 

Muscular. 

Thoughtful.

She strides into the morning briefing.

“Good morning, Admiral.”

“Good morning, Lieutenant.”

Admiral Hayes. 

Admiral Brand.

Admiral Paris.

Words. Maps. Diagrams. Reports. 

The meeting is adjourned.

She hurries to her office.

Of the three restaurants Kathryn liked, she wonders if Iliam would be most comfortable at the Betazoid bistro. After all, the species share telepathic traits. However, Vulcan barbecue has the benefit of calm minds and vegetarian cuisine. Empathic species often eschew meat, although the database didn’t say anything about Deltan dietary preferences. Meanwhile, Andorians were an early first contact for Deltans and the Andorian brasserie looked good, though the blue decor was a bit much.

She decides. 

Vulcan barbecue. 

She tells herself this has to do with food and mental comfort. Not that Vulcan’s warm climate increases the odds the restaurant’s temperature control will be calibrated for clientele from that planet.

Which means Iliam might roll up his shirtsleeves and she’ll be able to see his forearms.

Kathryn bites her lips together and wills herself to focus on her work. 

***

Iliam reads the message over and over.

Vulcan cuisine is quite pleasing.

The restaurant is not far from his work.

And Vulcan is a warm planet, so perhaps Kathryn will remove her Starfleet jacket and there will be fewer layers separating him from her breasts, her shoulders, her stomach.

Iliam types a reply, then takes the time for what he was too fatigued to attempt the night before.

He researches this tantalizing human with the name Kathryn Janeway. 

Honors graduation with a doctorate in quantum cosmology from Starfleet Academy.

On Earth under employment contract with Starfleet Command.

Captained a small starship recently returned to Federation space after seven years on the other side of the galaxy.

Iliam’s thick eyebrows rise.

***

Kathryn had set 1900 hours as the time to meet, but when she walks toward the restaurant at 1855, she sees Iliam standing by the door, tapping a padd and looking up every few seconds.

Her legs go rubbery, but she refuses to break stride.

She wants to tease him with something like, “Long time, no see,” but the database indicated Deltan honesty is so extreme that the planet’s natives could be confused by an incorrect statement.

So she breathes, “Hi.”

Iliam has been watching Kathryn walk toward him. He had never noticed how human hair can bounce and swing and shine. These qualities are entrancing.

“Hello,” he says. “I arrived early but then was unsure if it was customary for me to secure seating or await you here. The dating section of the planetary guidebook is quite small.”

Her stomach lurches. She knew this was a date, but “dating” is a continued relationship. With this gorgeous, intelligent man … who may or may not be using Earth terminology correctly, so she chides herself not to get her hopes up.

“Either is all right.”

He observes her toothy smile and knows his matches. This smile is so lovely it can only create more smiles.

The door opens with a group leaving the restaurant and Iliam holds out his arm for Kathryn to enter in front of him. He read this is considered old-fashioned, but some Earth women like it.

Walking behind her with his mental barriers in place, Iliam cannot tell if Kathryn is happy or sad or excited or wishing she had never agreed to meet him. His palms grow clammy at the need to guess Kathryn’s perceptions for the entirety of a meal. Their interactions seemed clearer last night, clearer than with any human he had ever met. But, today, it is more difficult to discern if his actions are pleasing to her. 

And he wants so much to be pleasing to her.

But then her face turns and he can see in her eyes that, so far, she is enjoying their date. This time, he smiles first and she reciprocates. 

“We can sit inside or outside,” she says. “Do you have a preference?”

They are inside now and it is significantly warmer than outside. “Inside, if you wish for the same.”

She nods. “I do.”

There are a few minutes of settling into chairs, perusing menus, and the decision to share a few appetizers instead of big, separate meals. They each order and then there is the chatter of other people and the intensity of the heat.

Iliam’s finger slides under his shirt collar. He leans forward. 

“The warmth on Delta IV is humid. This dry heat of Vulcan is unfamiliar to me. Would it be offensive if I roll up my shirtsleeves?”

He wonders why it takes her three tries to form the word, “No.”

Then he understands because the same thing happens to him when she asks if he would mind if she removed her uniform jacket. Iliam attempts to focus on alterations to his own garment, but he cannot help but observe the parting of jacket material and her arch forward as one sleeve slips away, then the other.

“It is my understanding an inquiry into a person’s day is appropriate,” he says, wrenching his gaze from breasts, arms, and shoulders outlined by her Starfleet turtleneck, “so how was your day, Kathryn?”

Through his Deltan accent, it sounds like Kat-tryn. 

Her ears tingle.

She has never loved her name more. 

She wants him to say it over and over.

She wants him to moan it.

“I had a busy day.” Kathryn pulls her eyes from the bulges of Iliam’s hairless, muscular forearms to focus on his eyes, so attentive, so piercingly green she forces back a sigh. “I led a long mission and Starfleet wants me to critique every major decision. It’s time-consuming.”

Iliam frowns. “What is the purpose of the critique?”

Her shoulders shift upward, then down. “To beat myself up for roads not taken? No one will tell me. They say it’s part of the transition from captain to admiral.”

The restaurant is filling with Vulcans and Iliam speaks more loudly to be heard over greetings and the scrapings of chairs.

“The planetary guidebook indicates humans prize preparedness,” he says. “In preparation for our date, I endeavored to learn more about you. I read news articles about your _Voyager_ and its seven years on the other side of the galaxy. Was this a correct thing to do? Is this the long mission you reference?”

Under the table, Kathryn’s hands twist her napkin. She wonders if it will ever get easier to hear the name of her ship. Her memory flashes through crewmembers’ faces. She doesn’t know whether to be grateful her mind is regaining its ability to focus on other topics — or to be frustrated she still wants to reach across the table and unbutton Iliam’s shirt.

“Yes, and it’s all right. I looked you up, too. Is this your first time away from your homeworld?”

“I have been to other planets for vacations or research collaborations, but this is my first time leaving Delta IV for an extended period.”

Kathryn shifts back in her seat as a waiter arrives with their food. “Do you miss home?”

Iliam thanks the waiter, who nods and retreats. 

“Yes,” he says. “Abundant unfamiliarity can be tiring. However, I am grateful for the work that I can perform here. It is a delicate balance to be far from everything familiar, yet to know this very distance enables leadership experience in my field. I can only hope my choices are correct.”

Iliam doesn’t understand why Kathryn inhales as her eyes close for longer than necessary for a human blink.

But he wants to.

“Did I speak incorrectly?” he asks. 

Her hair swings with a shake of her head and her fork spears a vegetable from the plate closest to him.


	5. Chapter 5

“What is appropriate now?” Iliam asks as they leave the restaurant. 

Kathryn pulls on her jacket to distract herself from the urge to push Iliam against a wall and climb up his body. They managed to have normal conversation as they ate. His lecture, MACHOs, facts about _Voyager_ that were commonly misreported in the news, planets they’ve both visited, sights in San Francisco. She realizes the calm, Vulcan minds must have helped protect her from Deltan pheromones.

And she still very much enjoyed her time with Iliam.

However, out on the sidewalk, rational thought is becoming clouded by desire.

“Now, we make plans to meet again and then go home,” she says. “Separately, to our own homes.”

He nods, very serious, and stands to face her as he rolls down his sleeves. She bites her lips together as muscular forearms disappear behind cloth.

“May we meet tomorrow, perhaps? In your Golden Gate Park for a walk and then the evening meal?”

Through the haze in her brain, Kathryn remembers she already has plans for tomorrow night.

“I’m supposed to have dinner with my family in Bloomington, Indiana.” She wonders if the color in his cheeks signifies embarrassment. Deltans, she knows, are communal — everyone is welcome to join social gatherings. Exclusion would be rude. “You could join us if you’d like.”

His head bows toward her. “This would be my delight.”

They decide to meet at the transporter station and it takes all of her self-control and his concern regarding human propriety to part without touching.

As Kathryn walks away, she wonders what the hell she’s just done. 

When she gets to her apartment, she types a message to her mother: “I invited a very nice man I’ve just started dating to come to dinner tomorrow. Please, don’t make this a big deal.”

***

Iliam is at the transporter station when Kathryn gets there and the way his eyes linger on her legs reminds her that he’s never seen her out of uniform.

Her dress skims her knees. 

But he’s wearing short sleeves and her fingers tingle for the smooth, exposed skin.

“Hello,” he says. “The weather indicated warmth in Bloomington, Indiana, exceeding the temperature of San Francisco. This is correct?”

“Yes.” She coughs. “Yes, it is.”

When they materialize in Bloomington, Iliam clutches his stomach. Kathryn rushes toward him.

“I apologize,” he gasps, his Deltan nerve endings, more sensitive than any human’s, inflamed from rematerialization. “I do not transport often. It is a unique sensation.”

Her hand is on his forearm. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. It is only unsettling for a moment.”

He straightens.

Her fingers quiver. 

His arm is soft ... smooth … strong. Warmth flows up her fingers, through her arm, and into her entire body.

Iliam’s head snaps up. 

Kathryn’s eyes are so dark he can barely see the blue irises. Her breathing is shallow. Research has taught Iliam what this means for a human. 

Tan fingers close around a pale wrist. 

He pulls her hand away.

“I delight in your touch.” His voice is low. “However, I believe there is a word on your planet: ‘exhibitionism.’”

It occurs to Kathryn that she would be embarrassed if Iliam were human. But, for a Deltan, this is not taboo, so she clears her throat. 

“Thank you.”

They walk to the Janeway farmhouse. It’s later in Bloomington than it was in San Francisco, and the sunset streaks the sky.

“This is like Delta IV,” Iliam gestures to the pink and purple hues above them, “but this,” he indicates crops growing in the fields, “is something I have only seen in books.”

“What do you think?” Kathryn asks.

His gaze sweeps what she knows to be corn, soybeans, and wheat. Iliam does not recognize any of the plants.

“I think it is different,” he turns toward her again, “but different can be exciting, yes?”

Her “yes” catches in her throat with the call of Gretchen Janeway, “Hurry, you two, the baby’s asleep so we can try to eat in peace.”

They make their way up the front walk.

“Mom,” Kathryn says as they near the front porch, “this is Iliam. He studies MACHOs at the Daystrom Institute.”

Iliam nods his greeting. 

Gretchen sags against the side of her front door. 

“Pleased to, uh, meet you. Iliam, is it?” Gretchen’s hand presses to her sternum.

“Yes. It is my delight to be in your acquaintance and I thank you for the opportunity to join your family for a meal.”

Kathryn has never before heard her mother giggle, but the sound is unmistakable.

This may not have been a good idea. 

They follow Gretchen to the dining room. There is a salad at each place. Phoebe and her husband, Oscar, are already eating. 

Phoebe looks up and begins to choke. She swallows her lettuce, then mutters, “Holy shit.”

“What is it, Phoebe?” Oscar’s attention shifts from his wife to his mother-in-law to the newcomers. He stands and sticks out his hand toward Iliam. “Nice to meet you. I’m Oscar.”

Iliam shakes the hand. “Iliam. It is nice to meet you as well.”

“The first time I came to the farmhouse, I took a wrong turn and ended up in the middle of a tomato field. You were smart to follow a guide.” Oscar sits and picks up his fork. “Hi, Kathryn.”

“Hello, Oscar.” Kathryn takes in her mother’s goofy grin and her sister’s flared nostrils. “Iliam, have a seat and please enjoy your salad. I’m going to check something in the kitchen with assistance from the Janeway ladies.”

In the kitchen, Kathryn turns on her red-faced family. 

“What the hell is wrong with you two?”

“Is that guy Deltan?” Phoebe asks.

Kathryn’s hands go to her hips. “Yes. Why?”

Phoebe smirks.

Gretchen grins.

“You could have warned us, Katie.” Phoebe’s arms cross, but her tone is teasing. “It would have been nice to know your new guy is a sex magnet.”

“Phoebe, dear,” Gretchen chortles, “we should have known. Your sister the scientist is solving a living equation for factors of magnetism and attraction.”

“Oh, I see.” Kathryn isn’t sure if she’s angry at them or at herself for thinking this wouldn’t be a problem if Iliam clearly arrived as her date. “You two aren’t going to be adults about this. A guest in our home is going to be viewed in light of prurient rumors, not on his own merits.”

“We’ll be good.” Phoebe pats her sister’s shoulder. “As long as you promise to tell us every detail about his merits.”

Kathryn looks to her mother, but Gretchen only bites her lips together in a clear attempt not to burst into full-blown laughter. 

“It’s called self-control,” Kathryn hisses. “A trait I thought we shared.”

She stalks out of the kitchen.

***

“This was a meal of delicious foods and enjoyable conversation,” Iliam declares as he finishes his brownie. “I thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” Gretchen says, and Kathryn can see her mother is forcing her smile to be matronly serene instead of girlishly flattered. “I enjoy cooking for an appreciative eater.”

It was mentioned over dinner that, four years ago, Phoebe traveled to Andor to study jewelry technique with a Deltan art teacher. Kathryn had been unaware of this and Phoebe had waved it away as one of the many topics the sisters needed to catch up on now that Kathryn was back in the Alpha Quadrant.

“When we had a lunch break during class, Deltan seaweed was an option.” Phoebe doesn’t look at Iliam as she stands to clear dishes. “It was really good.”

“Was the seaweed green or purple?”

“Both, mixed,” Phoebe says. 

“Ah.” Iliam kisses his fingertips. “The best.”

Phoebe sighs as she disappears into the kitchen. Kathryn breathes deeply. She tells herself it’s ridiculous to be jealous that Phoebe has an experience in common with Iliam.

Because that’s the behavior of someone who isn’t in control.

And Kathryn is most certainly in control.

Oscar returns to the dining room with a fussy baby, Warren. The infant’s dark, wild hair sticks up in spikes. Gretchen holds out her arms, but Oscar shakes his head and speaks over his child’s cries. “Gas bubble, I’m thinking. I’ll keep patting his back. You sit.”

Iliam looks from one adult to another. 

His palms press against his thighs. 

Babies on Delta IV do not cry. These whining, whimpering sounds are distressing, but no adult seems distressed, only inconvenienced. 

He leans toward Kathryn and speaks softly into her ear, “Would it be impolite if I were to ask to assist with the child?”

Her eyes glaze at his breath in her ear, but her hair swings with a shake of her head. 

Iliam stands and holds out his hands toward Oscar. “May I attempt a different technique, please?”

Oscar passes the baby over and Iliam’s elbows straighten as he studies Warren. Iliam has never lowered his mental barriers in front of humans before, but this tiny human is in distress. 

Iliam takes a deep breath. 

He relaxes, the barriers removed. 

Annoyance. 

Warren is annoyed.

At the sides of his head. 

His ears.

His hair touches his ears and Warren wants to rip the itch away, but his hands don’t work yet and every day and every night is a constant irritation of hair on ears. 

Tears leak from Iliam’s eyes and he is so focused on the crying baby that Iliam does not see the adults staring at them both. He can feel their surprise, but also that they know he is trying to help.

It is a strain this late in the day, but Iliam replaces his mental barriers. Oscar scoops the baby from Iliam’s wilting arms. 

“His hair,” Iliam tells Oscar. “It bothers his ears.”

Oscar disappears into the kitchen. His voice is muffled in the dining room but Phoebe’s shout is clear, “Give him a mohawk for all I care if it makes him stop crying.”

Iliam retakes his seat. He requires a few minutes to recover from his exertion so he cannot yet speak to the questioning eyes of Kathryn and Gretchen.

When Phoebe and her family exit the kitchen, Warren’s hair is chopped short around his ears and the baby is cooing.

“You.” Phoebe points at Iliam, looking him straight in the eye. “We’re keeping you.”


	6. Chapter 6

After Iliam explains how Deltan empathic and telepathic traits allow for limited communication with babies and even animals, after goodbyes, and after a silent walk to the transporter station, Kathryn asks Iliam if he’s all right to beam to Alameda Island by himself.

She’s relieved when he says yes.

When she gets to her apartment, she comms him.

“Thank you again for helping with the baby. My sister and brother-in-law have been exhausted by him.”

“It was my pleasure.”

Kathryn can see the San Francisco skyline behind Iliam and she wants to be next to him, his arm over her shoulders. But she has to understand a few things before she considers seeing him again.

“I realize Deltan pheromones impact all humanoids, but the database has significant gaps. Why didn’t my brother-in-law seem affected?”

Iliam blinks. “The pheromones only accelerate existing attraction. Mild attraction becomes compelling, compelling attraction becomes intense. If there is no attraction, the pheromones do nothing.”

Kathryn lets her eyes drift closed with her exhale. At least all of humanity won’t be throwing itself at this brilliant man with impossibly long eyelashes.

“What do you do when humanoids are attracted to you and you’re not interested in them?”

“I politely decline their advances.” Iliam looks away and Kathryn wonders what he sees when he focuses on something to his side and below him. “Please know I intend no offense. You are the first non-Deltan I have wished to know on an intimate level, so I have not encountered these questions before.”

The word slips out on a breath, “First?”

While she thinks she’s pretty enough, Kathryn knows other women are more statuesque, more curvy, more sensual. Hell, Betazoids as a species are so sexy that Kathryn had to control herself from hitting on Veronica Stadi during the lieutenant’s few visits to her ready room.

Iliam leans toward the screen. “I was very tired as we walked to the transporter station. I now have the energy to ask if I may see you tomorrow.”

Kathryn isn’t sure if she’s drowning or swimming for the first time, but she says yes and they arrange to meet at the Museum of Earth to see Julia Paris’ architecture exhibit.

***

“It says they’re called breeze blocks.”

Iliam grins as Kathryn reads the label for a mid-twentieth century Earth exterior wall feature. 

“We call them wind screens on Delta IV.”

Kathryn crouches to examine the airy concrete squares. Iliam stands and wonders what human hair would feel like between his fingers. He shakes the thought away. There are more important things — like mental comfort.

And Kathryn comming him the night before, accepting an invitation when she was unaffected by the pherenomes he can’t control, this brings Iliam much mental comfort.

As does this museum.

The deeper they get into the exhibit, the more Kathryn and Iliam learn commonalities in their planets’ architectural histories. He knows the Deltan equivalents are of more delicate and nuanced construction, but he doesn’t point this out. Instead, he plans to show Kathryn the images another time and he trusts her to make her own judgment. 

She is so very intelligent. 

He hasn’t spoken with his father for a few nights, so it will be important to do so tonight. Iliam would prefer to have dinner with Kathryn, but he doesn’t wish to anger his father. 

The only parent who will comm him.

“Kathryn!” 

Iliam turns, his heart pounding from the loud voice. A rotund man with a semicircle of white hair on his head moves toward the breeze blocks. Kathryn stands and her back becomes straighter than Iliam has ever seen.

“I thought that was you. I know it’s Sunday, but Admiral Hayes commed me last night regarding your most recent reports and if we can talk in person now, we can …”

The man’s words disappear and Iliam feels his stare.

“Admiral Paris,” Kathryn gestures from one man to another, “this is Iliam.”

Iliam nods his greeting. 

Admiral Paris stands, slack-jawed.

“I … I didn’t realize Starfleet had any Deltans stationed in San Francisco.”

“He works for the Daystrom Institute.” Kathryn’s eyebrow rises. 

“How, uh, how very …” Admiral Paris’ mouth continues to move but no sound comes out. He coughs. “Nice. Yes, very nice. Daystrom Institute. Yes.”

He smiles and Iliam believes this human does not smile often. The lips do not move naturally and their curve is strained.

“Thank you,” Iliam says. “It is a gift of San Francisco to be home to both the Daystrom Institute and Starfleet.”

A small, strangled sound comes from Admiral Paris, then he bellows, “Julia!” and a silver-haired woman with a museum employee badge hurries over. The admiral’s arm hugs her waist as he stammers, “Julia, this — this is Iliam. He works for the Daystrom Institute.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Julia says. “Daystrom has some wonderful exhibits on computing and machinery.”

Her hand is out, so Iliam shakes it. 

“Thank you,” he says. “It is a pleasure to meet you as well.”

“Did you need anything else?” Julia asks her husband. “I’ve got a hundred things going on here.”

“I’ll help you,” Admiral Paris says. “Have fun, Kathryn. Iliam. Goodbye.”

He almost pitches Julia forward in his haste to leave with her.

“Your friend?” Iliam asks Kathryn.

“My superior at work,” she clarifies. “I’ve known him for twenty years and he has never once told me to ‘have fun.’”

“You dislike him?”

“There was a time I would have died for him.” Her arms cross. “But he doesn’t tolerate weakness.”

Iliam has many words to describe Kathryn Janeway and “weakness” is not among them. He tilts his head, confused. 

“Would you explain this?”

“Not now,” she says, “but I will.”

***

Kathryn’s finger shakes as she keys in her apartment code. 

Iliam should be on the ferry back to Alameda Island.

And, tomorrow night after work, she’ll join him.

As they exited the museum, she asked if his offer to cook for her would be an option for a date the next night. When he said yes, she trembled. But it wasn’t just desire — it was pride, too.

Because Kathryn knew she could have suggested yet another chaste outing and she still would have looked forward to time with Iliam.

Of course she wants to have sex with him. So does her mother, her sister, Admiral Paris, and who knows how many other people.

But Kathryn trusts Iliam now.

He moved her hand at the transporter station. 

He made it clear he isn’t intimate with people simply because they want to be intimate with him.

They can discuss anything from MACHOs to breeze blocks and he asks about her thoughts and feelings.

The door opens and, even though it’s early, Kathryn heads for the sonic shower. Her sleep is almost always disturbed and she wants to get as much rest as possible. 

Tomorrow may be a late night.

***

“Papa!” Iliam smiles at the screen.

“Son, it has been too long. Tell me of your lecture, of your time on Earth.”

Enoi has the familiar waters behind him, but Iliam doesn’t long for them the way he did the last time they spoke. 

“The lecture went well in every way. Papa, I met a woman there and have engaged in a human practice called ‘dating’ with her in which two people spend time together to learn each other’s traits and preferences. She is most enjoyable.”

The older man’s frown travels across the light years. 

“Two people, apart from others? Is this not rude?”

Iliam’s skin prickles with fear. “It is the custom and I would cause offense if I did not abide by it. May I tell you about her? Help you know why she is a delightful companion?”

“Human?” Enoi’s eyes narrow. 

Iliam’s jaw flexes. “Yes.”

“Then your mother was right. You’ve left Delta IV and forgotten your people. I am of a broken heart.”

“Papa! Please try to —”

The screen is dark.


	7. Chapter 7

“Good morning, Admiral.”

“Good morning, Lieutenant. I hope you had a good weekend.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

Announcements are the same, reports are the same, even the way Admiral Paris glares at her is the same. 

Well, there might be a tinge of envy in that last one.

Kathryn hides her grin with her padd. An increase in worrisome activity in sector 010 isn’t exactly funny.

When she gets to her desk, Kathryn picks up where she left off in her analyses: The decision to allow members of her crew to decide for themselves if they wanted to stay with the 37s even though a substantial exodus could have left not enough people to operate _Voyager_ , thereby stranding everyone on the planet. 

She closes her eyes. Remembers the ready room conversation with Chakotay, her worry before opening the cargo bay door, her relief when no crewmember elected to go.

But, damn, if it wasn’t an unnecessarily risky move as she considers it now.

She begins to type the folly of her choice.

Then Kathryn decides she was correct and crewmembers deserved the option of an Earth-like culture. 

However, that could have resulted in the removal of options for everyone else.

On the other hand, morale can be tricky when transfer isn’t an option and the appearance of choice when crewmembers didn’t, in fact, want to leave was a clear message they were valued beyond their job titles. 

Yet, a starship needs to function and crewmembers with essential job titles could have departed. 

Therefore, permitting the choice to quit those jobs was admittedly questionable here. 

Which was bad.

But good because it worked out.

Except it might not have.

It did, though, proving the decision was correct.

In hindsight. 

It’s almost lunchtime when Kathryn files the report and moves on to the next one, but before she can even start to read her own logs, Admiral Paris enters without chiming. 

A padd drops from his hand to clatter onto her desk.

“This is garbage. Just like the rest of them.”

Kathryn sees the report she just filed.

“Perhaps, sir, if you could tell me —”

“Captains with twenty years in a command chair have completed this exercise faster than you have!” His face reddens with anger. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why can’t you complete in three months what would have taken the Kathryn Janeway I know all of three days?”

“Sir, if you would just give me some indication —”

Breath puffs from his nostrils.

“Your last command decision,” he hisses, “was your worst.”

She jumps forward in her seat. “Destroying the Borg transwarp hub? Infecting the collective with a neurolytic pathogen?”

He looks to the ceiling as if he is appealing to a higher power neither of them believe in. 

“You know, I pushed for you to get this promotion.” Admiral Paris’ lips form a hard line. “Clearly, I was wrong.”

He turns on his heel and strides out.

***

A half hour before she needs to leave for the ferry terminal, Kathryn closes down her office. Another minute at this desk is three months and a minute too long.

What if Admiral Paris is right?

She wasn’t sure she wanted to be an admiral, but the thought of captaining a ship that wasn’t _Voyager_ didn’t hold much appeal, either. 

And what other choice was there? Being stuck on a space station somewhere?

If she had been granted her sabbatical, she could have thought through her options, but, instead, Starfleet slammed her into a promotion she wasn’t sure she wanted and now, for the first time in her career, she isn’t performing to expectations. 

When she’s the one who always outperforms expectations. 

Kathryn wanders the winding paths of Starfleet Academy. When she has a year or two of experience at Starfleet Command, she’ll be expected to teach here. But she looks into the faces of the cadets and worries for their futures, for wars and displacement waves and the everyday dangers of space. 

She can’t remember the last time she looked to the stars.

By the time she reaches the ferry terminal, Kathryn is frowning and her arms are wrapped around her midsection.

“Kathryn.”

The sound of Kat-tryn, at least, helps her smile. 

“You are distressed.” Iliam’s thick eyebrows knit in concern. 

“I am,” she says, even as the now-familiar ache of need settles low in her belly at the sight of him. “I had what humans call a bad day at the office.”

“Ah. I, too, am troubled.” He shakes his head. “Is the custom to discuss such thoughts right away or with the meal?”

There are at least a dozen people in the ferry terminal wearing Starfleet uniforms. 

“The custom varies, but let’s wait,” Kathryn inclines her head toward the other officers. “Privacy.”

“Yes,” Iliam mutters. “To be apart from others. I understand.”

***

Most people point out landmarks on a ferry ride, but Iliam points out what Kathryn mentally nicknames “baymarks.” 

A school of fish.

A deepening of the sea floor. 

A change in currents.

The water seems to invigorate him.

“Do you miss it?” she asks, the wind whipping her hair. “The oceans of Delta IV?”

“Yes,” he says. “Yet I am pleased to be here, too.”

He doesn’t sound pleased, but she doesn’t press.

Her knuckles are white against the railing.

“Are you fearful?” His voice is almost a whisper, she presumes for the privacy she told him was so important to her. 

And she’s scared out of her mind. 

She didn’t get much work done after Admiral Paris yelled at her, but she did find a heavily classified report about a Starfleet officer who was stationed on Delta IV. The cryptic information indicated he engaged in sexual relations with a Deltan and didn’t become insane, but there were no details. So where did the rumor originate and can it be discarded as completely unreliable?

Plus, Iliam clearly is upset about something so what if he doesn’t even want to?

What if he does want to and it’s not what she expects?

What does she even expect?

The ferry pulls into the terminal. 

“I am fearful,” Kathryn tells Iliam, “but I’m trying not to be.”

His face is solemn. “I understand. If you do not like my cooking, you may inform me immediately without offense.” 

He winks and she bursts out laughing.

***

The house is skinny with windows on all four sides. The temperature controls are set for warmth with humidity, but Kathryn doesn’t mind. She’s too busy observing the crammed shelves that line the first floor living area.

“Paper books!” Kathryn’s fingers trail along the spines. “Did you bring these from Delta IV?”

Iliam’s chest puffs with pride. “I did. My favorites. The others I left behind.”

She doesn’t recognize any of the titles, but Kathryn promises herself she will learn more about Deltan literature. There is a cozy sofa and a window seat, both of which look perfect for curling up with a good book. 

As if she could read a word with her heart hammering the way it is.

Iliam leads the way upstairs. His round rear end bobbles in front of her and Kathryn forces her arms to stay at her sides as she follows him to the second-floor kitchen and dining area. Through an open door, she can see a bedroom. 

“Is that your room?” she asks, trying to keep her voice from betraying her eagerness or her trepidation. 

“No.” Iliam’s bald head emerges from the top of an apron. He ties the strings around his waist to secure the fabric. “That is the guest bedroom and bathroom. My bedroom and bathroom are on the third floor.”

He doesn’t offer and she doesn’t ask.

He wants to offer and she wants to ask.

But he needs to discuss something first. 

“I spoke with my father.” Iliam removes a package of purple seaweed from his food stasis unit. “He is displeased that we are dating.”

Kathryn’s throat is suddenly too big.

There’s pressure behind her eyes.

“It’s my understanding Deltan society prioritizes community,” she says. “Is that correct?”

Iliam pulls a short knife from a drawer. 

“It is correct.” He begins to slice the seaweed. “But I saddened my parents and community when I left Delta IV. I will continue the path I began the day I boarded a transport shuttle for Earth. This is not the easy choice, but my work and my attraction to you are my present and I am pleased with these things.”

Her stomach flutters, yet, through her relief, Kathryn can practically hear the padd clattering onto her desk at headquarters. “Don’t you have doubts about your choices?”

Iliam looks up from his seaweed preparations. “The past is not mine to change. It is mine to understand.”

Kathryn’s eyes widen.

This is what Admiral Paris has been wanting her to do.

She shouldn’t twist herself up over her decisions.

She should understand them.

How they contributed to the larger mission.

Why she would or wouldn’t repeat them.

What they would guide her to order a captain to do in her capacity as admiral.

A job she earned and was correct to accept.

“Is … is this a common viewpoint among Deltans?”

“Yes.” Iliam scoops the seaweed onto a small plate. “The past as a mechanism to understand the present is the dominant philosophy among my people. I have books on this topic downstairs that I welcome you to read.”

“Thank you. I’m eager to do so.” Kathryn’s exhale is shaky. “I believe you’ve helped with my bad day at the office.”

“This brings me delight to have helped, and I ask for you to tell me more.” Iliam places the plate of chopped seaweed in front of her. “In the meantime, this is to enjoy while I prepare the remainder of the meal.”

There’s no fork, no chopsticks. 

“How do I eat this?”

He pinches a piece of seaweed between his thumb and index finger and brings it to her lips. “Like this.”

The seaweed is all right, but her tongue curls around the finger. Iliam’s eyes close and the need that has become a steady drumbeat to her dates with him, the need Kathryn has learned to communicate around because she didn’t want to be just another humanoid enticed by Deltan pheromones — that need explodes and she sucks on his finger, hard.


	8. Chapter 8

“Kathryn.” Iliam’s voice is rough. “I have done my best to follow your culture, but I wish to do this the Deltan way. Is this acceptable to you?”

She has no idea what that means. 

She’s past caring. 

She nods, the finger still in her mouth, so warm, so thick.

Good God, if this is his finger, what is the rest of him going to do to her?

His hand is smooth on her cheek and then his forehead is on hers, his ocean smell so overpowering that she’s dizzy.

_ Inform me if this is unpleasant. _

It’s Iliam. But in her mind.

_ It’s not. _

Replying was as easy as allowing the thought to form. Natural. Like breathing. Like she’s just taken her first breath after thinking she had been breathing her whole life.

_ You are so beautiful. _

His finger leaves her mouth, but she doesn’t protest because she knows what he’s going to do. His lips meet hers and she wants to enjoy the softness, to linger in a first kiss of quickened heartbeats and tilted heads and bumping noses, but she needs more so badly that she’s already untying his apron. They separate so he can pull the cloth over his head, then meet again and her mouth opens on his. His tongue is slightly salty and she sucks greedily.

Her eyes snap open.

It’s not just thoughts.

She can sense his emotions. 

He’s relieved she can telepathically understand and respond because he has never been intimate any other way.

Now he’s elated she can feel his emotions, too.

_ My hope was that we could be together in this way of my people. _

_ It’s incredible. _

Then there’s an image in her mind and it’s of herself. She’s in the auditorium asking her question about MACHOs, only she’s gorgeous. Her eyes are blue like the pictures she’s seen of the Deltan ocean — _the waters, we call them the waters_ — and her hair gleams with its own energy. Her breasts strain against her uniform.

_ They do, you know. _

_ They do? _

_ You are of so many delights, Kathryn. _

She tries to send an image back. Himself, so tall and strong. 

_ You like my muscles? _

_ So much.  _

_ I will show them to you. _

He unfastens his shirt and it drops to the floor. 

Her hands trace powerful curves of forearms, triceps, biceps. She wants to reach for his broad chest, his firm abdominal muscles, but her lips get ahead of her hands and her kisses grow insistent, fingers grasping, breaths ragged.

_ I wish to touch you in this way that you touch me. Yes? _

_ Oh, God, yes. _

A strangled sound comes from deep in her throat as his fingers unzip and pull off her uniform jacket.

Then her turtleneck.

Then her bra.

His lips press to one of her breasts and she can’t breathe. 

_ What is wrong? _

_ I’ve never felt someone’s excitement at touching me at the same time as my excitement at being touched. _

_ Do you like it? _

_ I don’t know how I ever lived without it. _

He caresses a breast with one hand as the other hand tangles in her hair. 

_ It is softer than I expected.  _

_ You’ve never touched human hair before? _

_ I have never loved a human before. _

She gasps. There’s no hiding, no capacity for anything less than perfect clarity in this transparency of thought.

_ I love you, too. _

A whisper of warm breath, then his tongue swirls on her nipple. She wasn’t sure if telepathy would mean he would be silent, but his grunts of pleasure have her arcing into his mouth. She’s drunk from his tongue on her breast, from firm hands shifting up and down her back, from his bare skin on hers. But she needs more. She leaps and her legs are tight around his waist, her kisses hard on his chest, his neck, his lips.

_ May I? _

She receives an image of a room she’s never seen. It’s like something from the holodeck with stars all around, even through the ceiling. There’s a bed in the middle and a desk pushed against a wall of windows and she can see herself on the bed and Iliam is on top of her making love to her.

_ Where is that? _

_ Upstairs. I wish to take you there. _

_ Yes! _

He toes off his shoes, his hands firm on her rear end as stairs recede. She’s lowered onto the bed. Overhead is the arcing ascent of a shuttle. To one side is the wake of a ferry crossing the bay and the shimmer of the San Francisco skyline. 

_ These windows — and the skylight? _

_ No one can see in. _

_ You’re sure? _

_ It is my promise. _

One boot, then the other is pulled away.

Her feet become bare and the warm wetness of his mouth encloses a toe. His thumbs press into the arches of her feet. Her whimper is her own from pleasure that flows all the way up both her legs, but it’s also from what she senses in him, his eagerness to finally be able to share with her what she’s ready to accept. 

But what might it feel like if she brought pleasure to him?

She leans on her elbows. She sends him an image of herself kneeling in front of him, her mouth full. 

His lips curl into a smile. 

He straightens and steps over so she can tug his waistband to his ankles. His underwear is next and he steps out of both, pushing off each sock with the other foot.

She’s never seen an adult man without body hair before.

Everything seems larger. 

And more impressive.

His smile broadens. _I am pleased you like what you see._

_ I had no doubt.  _

She’s off the bed like a waterfall and onto her knees. Her fingers are light on his erection. She knows his nerve endings are more sensitive than what she’s used to and she doesn’t want to hurt him.

_ Our telepathic connection would inform you of unwanted pain, my love. _

_ Good to know. _

A pink tongue flattens to circle tan skin. She tastes the length and width of him, the bulge and dip of every vein until he glistens, until the soft sounds of happiness that come from them both become familiar. Then she points her tongue to nudge into the opening at his tip. His entire body shudders. She would assume in pleasure, but through their emotional connection she can sense surprise, too. 

_ No one’s ever done that for you before? _

_ No. This — this is exceptional. _

She forces her grin away so her cheeks can hollow. Tan skin disappears within pink lips, slowly, centimeter by centimeter, her tongue curling and circling until there’s no more room. She senses his absolute focus on her gentle suction, on the warmth and wetness of her mouth. 

His head lolls. 

Her fingertips explore curves under impossibly soft skin and his small sounds of bliss intensify as his legs become shaky. She’s always enjoyed doing this, but she has never had to contain her own urge to groan in pleasure because she’s aching between her legs from someone else’s happiness. 

They shift together so he can sit on the edge of the bed. 

There’s a taste. Like a grain of salt.

His breath catches and she feels worry slice through him.

_ It’s all right. Some humans don’t like it, but I consider it a compliment as long as you’ll have more rounds in you. _

_ What … is a … round? _

_ Sex. More sex. Another erection after ejacualtion. _

_ This … doesn’t happen … for human men? _

_ Not always. _

_ This is … unfortunate.  _

_ For them. _

_ I … I must — _

He cries out and the ecstasy of his release sends her over the edge. She shakes as she swallows and fluid leaks into the panties she didn’t remember she was still wearing.

Tan skin falls away from pink lips.

Breaths shudder in through her nose and out through her still-salty mouth.

Her forehead finds his inner thigh. He’s cool against her sheen of sweat.

Her hand reaches for his and she holds on tightly.

_ The sensation of delight as two people instead of one — is this to your liking? _

She nods against his leg. 

Tan fingers comb not-red not-brown hair until she turns to him and his thumb traces her nose, her cheeks, the arc of her eyebrows.

She’s pulled to standing. 

Warmth blossoms under his lips as he explores the slope of her neck, the hollow of her collarbones, the curves of each breast.

His fingers find the waistband of her trousers.

_ Yes? _

She receives an image of herself on her back in the middle of the bed, her knees bent, his mouth between her legs with fingers of one hand inside her.

_ Oh, yes. _

Her trousers and panties drop and she steps out of them.

Bedding shifts under her hands and knees, then she’s on her back. He lowers his mouth to her toes again. Her eyebrows rise. 

_ This was your plan all along? _

_ I have many plans for you, my love. _

His thumbs press into her arches as each toe receives warm, wet suction and slow swirls of his tongue that send pleasure surging up her legs. When his lips find her ankle, her anticipation as he kisses his way upward, her ability to sense his eagerness to be close to her, to have this opportunity to please her — it all has her wound tighter than she’s ever been in her life. 

He touches her triangle of hair.

_ This is new to me. _

_ Does it bother you? Some human women remove it. I will if you want me to. _

_ I do not wish for this. I wish to bring you delight. _

His fingers stroke the coarse hair as his head lowers. 

There’s a puff of breath.

Then pink on pink as his tongue swirls and arcs, rolls and twists. She’s almost painfully swollen and the whimpers his caresses tear from her throat are pleas for release as much as cries of pleasure.

His thrill to see her like this slams into her mind. He’s enjoying his ability to send her hips bucking, her legs trembling. He knows the more he winds her up, the greater her delight will be.

But she can’t think about that because she’s gasping as one finger slides inside her, then two, and his suction on her pink bulb of nerves is accompanied by gentle flicks of his tongue and her aching tightness surges into white-hot heat, his joy at her pleasure compounding the ecstasy, and there are spots and patterns in front of her eyes and her own cries echo in her ears as she orgasms so hard that fluid spurts from between her legs and the bedsheets twist in her clenched hands and her shoulder blades rise, go rigid, and slam back down. 

His head emerges, his smile wide on wet lips. 

She wants to smile back, but she can’t move. 

The stars around her are spinning.

_ I need a minute.  _

_ The night is ours, my love. _

A blanket flows over her.

She receives an image of herself, small in the big bed, her head peeking out from the blanket, eyes glassy, hair tousled, her mouth curled in a sated grin. 

He’s next to her under the blanket. 

They breathe.

Her hand finds his. Tan and pale fingers lace, and his thumb strokes hers.

They breathe.

She rolls to her side and their lips press together. 

He tastes the salt of the waters of Delta IV. 

She tastes the sweetness of Earth.

His stomach and chest touch hers and his lack of hair lets her feel every muscle, every quiver of the joy she can sense in his mind and his body. Her legs close around his thigh and his hands reach for the hair on her head and she can’t quite believe it but the need low in her belly builds again.

She sends him an image of himself on top of her.

_ Was this not my idea from earlier? _

_ It’s a good one. _

He rolls them and she’s on her back.

Her hips arch toward his. 

She can sense he’s been looking forward to this, hoping for it since the night they met. She has, too, and her fingertips press into his back, encouraging, imploring, as these final seconds of want wring needy, eager sounds from both of them.

He pushes in, one stroke, to the hilt.

And Kathryn suddenly understands where the insanity rumors come from.

Because the intense mental pleasure of being penetrated and penetrating ...

… inside and within …

… giving and receiving …

It’s too much for a human brain and she’s falling down a deep, bottomless pit and there’s nothing to stop her. It’s blackness and it’s forever and she’s not afraid as her mind unbuckles and slips away.


	9. Chapter 9

_I am here. You should be here. Do not leave me, Kathryn…. Kathryn.... Kathryn!_

His teeth close on the side of her neck, white into pale skin until a flow of red, and the pain yanks her from the eternal blackness. Her eyes focus — how long had they been out of focus? — and the blur in front of Kathryn sharpens until it’s Iliam, his eyes wild, his terror flooding through their emotional connection.

_Iliam. How did you know what to do?_

_What was this?_

_I don’t know. How did you know what to do?_

_I was frightened. I have never known this to occur. My only thought was to use human violence to reach a human mind. I hope I did not offend. I am sorry. I have never hurt anyone._

Her hand caresses his cheek.

He’s trembling.

He’s still inside her and he’s afraid to breathe too deeply for fear of what might happen.

_You did the right thing._

_Yes, but this is not the way of my people._

_Because we’re finding a new way together, okay?_

She feels his satisfaction with this and she pinches her own thigh, hard, and doesn’t let go. Because, despite what just happened, she wants him. She wants him so much she’s having trouble getting enough air. He saved her. He was smart and resourceful and put his own discomfort aside to protect her.

Her thigh crackles with pain but her other thumb strokes his dark, thick eyebrow.

_It’s going to be all right. Please. Let’s try again._

_I … I do not know._

_I trust you. Trust me. We can do this._

He begins to move inside her, tentatively at first, then stronger as her mind stays with him.

_Your eyes are blue like the waters of my home._

_And yours are green like the land where I grew up._

Her hips try to find his rhythm, but her motions are too angular. This isn’t the thrusting she’s met from every other male humanoid. Because everyone else was an arrow and Iliam is a wave that crests into her with more and more power.

She shifts to follow his lead, to arc and ebb and flow.

He’s panting.

She’s holding onto his rear end with her free hand and her pleasure builds quickly because it’s building inside him, too. Every vein she had traced with her tongue, every erect centimeter of his length and width, it’s all become friction and glide, rubbing into and against her, and she‘s so swollen and excited with him that every breath is a sound of joy, of bliss, of eagerness for even more.

He’s grunting.

She receives a mental image of her own face, dewy and flushed and focused on what’s about to happen because it’s on the verge of happening and there is incredible pressure between her legs all the way up into her stomach and down to the insides of her knees. Then the finger and thumb pinching her thigh spasm with the rest of her body and Kathryn and Iliam both cry out as existence becomes salty and sweet and love.

***

“Kathryn?” Iliam sits up in bed. He is unaccustomed to waking in the night and he squints into the darkness. 

He can see her by starlight, but cannot locate her mind. 

She is pulling on her trousers.

“Kathryn, what is it you are doing?”

“Warp core.” Her voice is slurred. No conscious thought forms her words. 

“Please explain.”

“Something’s wrong. Warp core.”

She reaches for her socks and his skin prickles in goosebumps. 

Iliam speaks loudly, “Kathryn, you are not on a starship.”

She blinks and he feels her consciousness return to her body. 

She looks down at herself. He understands she is weary — not surprised.

_What is this, Kathryn?_

Tears leak from her eyes. 

_I can’t. I can’t. I can’t._

_What can’t you?_

_I can’t. I can’t. I can’t._

He helps her out of her trousers and holds her until her heartbeat slows and she falls asleep.

For him, sleep doesn’t come so easily. 

***

“It’s not something I’m used to talking about.”

Kathryn and Iliam should be getting ready for work, but they’re tangled up in each other, all arms and legs and trailing, sleep-lazy fingers.

_If you do not wish to talk, you can tell me this way._

She sends him mental images — throwing off the blanket, fumbling in the dark for clothing, the crimson of red alert. His forehead furrows and his arms curl around her.

_It happens most nights. I told a Starfleet counselor and she said I needed to relax and it should get better._

_Have you relaxed?_

_I thought I was pretty darn relaxed when I fell asleep last night. It didn’t even cross my mind to warn you._

His kiss is soft on her lips. 

_What is ‘I can’t. I can’t. I can’t’?_

_‘I can’t live this way.’_

_Please explain._

_I was acutely lonely in the Delta Quadrant. I cared deeply for my crew, but being solely responsible for them, for the ship, for everything — it wore me down. The Starfleet counselor said what I experience when I try to sleep is called a night terror, and it slams me back to that time._

He holds her tightly.

***

“Good morning, Admiral.”

“And a very good morning to you, Lieutenant.”

Kathryn beamed directly to headquarters and she settles in for the briefing with a twist of guilt in her belly that Iliam probably will be late to work because he so strongly prefers the ferry.

Admirals Hayes, Brand, and Paris.

Words. Maps. Diagrams. Reports.

The briefing ends. Kathryn strides to her office and logs on to her computer.

She pictures Iliam chopping seaweed, explaining Deltan philosophy to use the past as a springboard to understand the present. 

She types: “The decision to allow crew to choose whether to stay with the 37s was a risk that proved correct as it cemented crew morale around the shared mission to return to the Alpha Quadrant.”

She files the report and begins to read the next log entry.

Her chime rings. 

“Come in.”

“It’s about damn time.” Admiral Paris holds a padd and she can see her report. 

Her grin spreads as she nods.

“Now, start over from the beginning and do it right.”

The grin wavers. 

“But first, there is another matter.” Admiral Paris stomps toward her, pulling a dermal regenerator from behind the padd. “You will conform to professional standards.”

He glares at her, his gaze focused on her neck. 

Kathryn’s hand rushes to cover the bite mark.

Admiral Paris lays the regenerator on her desk. “If you were any other officer, I’d accuse you of bragging.”

He’s gone before she can reply.

***

Kathryn has been staring at her computer terminal for an hour.

She’s already regenerated the skin on her neck, replicated a glass of orange juice, and rearranged her desk drawers so the regenerator fits in the keypad-protected one closest to her right hand. 

“C’mon,” she mutters at her screen. 

The decision to destroy the Caretaker's array. 

Right or wrong and why?

Right because she upheld the Prime Directive. Chakotay’s ship, the _Val Jean_ , knocked out the array’s self-destruct sequence. The Ocampa weren’t warp-capable, which means the Federation couldn’t interfere, so the Prime Directive dictated she carry out the Caretaker’s wishes. 

Wrong because she broke the Prime Directive. The Kazon were warp-capable. The effects of _Voyager_ and the _Val Jean_ were fair game and the long-standing resentment the Kazon had for the Ocampa wasn’t Starfleet’s concern. 

Except her duty was to protect the more vulnerable species, the Ocampa. 

Her more pressing duty, however, was to return her crew to the Alpha Quadrant and complete her mission to turn the Maquis over to Federation authorities. 

Kathryn’s fingers pinch the bridge of her nose. How many times has she had this conversation with herself? 

Her sharp intake of breath is through teeth. 

She has literally had this conversation with herself. 

When the Admiral Janeway from the future spoke of the decision to destroy the array, she had accused Kathryn of putting the lives of strangers over the lives of her crew. The older woman had been steely eyed, adding, “You can't make the same mistake again.”

But how did the Admiral Janeway from the future reach that conclusion?

Kathryn nearly runs down the corridor to chime at Admiral Paris’ door. He gives permission to enter and looks up from his computer terminal as she steps in.

“All new admirals complete exercises to reflect on their decisions as captain?”

“I never said that,” he snaps. 

“Then why?” Kathryn’s arms cross. “Why me?”

He motions toward the chairs in front of his desk. “You’re familiar with the Department of Temporal Investigations?”

She sits. “Of course.”

Admiral Paris unlocks his own keypad-protected desk drawer, pulls out a padd, and hands it to Kathryn. “This is their preliminary report.”

The Admiral Janeway from the future. 

She violated not only the Temporal Prime Directive, but also a Federation non-interference agreement with the Klingon government. She reassigned a Starfleet officer to a personal mission. She stole technology from the Klingons and temporal investigators are still trying to track the source of shield generator modifications that weren’t Starfleet issue. 

She was a criminal.

Kathryn’s jaw flexes and she hands back the padd. 

“You’re punishing me for what she did?”

“On the contrary.” Admiral Paris locks the padd away again. “Temporal law is unclear, but investigators suggested we wouldn’t have to worry about you if we could make a case for personality divergence.”

Personality divergence — a clear indication an individual has changed in a way that negates the possibility of their actions from an interrupted timeline from reoccurring in the current timeline. 

Kathryn has dedicated her life to Starfleet. And, because of someone else’s choices, Starfleet has been forcing her to do exercises to prove she wouldn’t do something she didn’t do.

“You don’t trust me.” Her voice is a whisper. “That’s why Starfleet denied my sabbatical. You think I’m going to be a criminal and you want to keep me tied to a desk until you’re satisfied one way or the other.”

Admiral Paris doesn’t argue.

Kathryn stands. 

“Permission to be dismissed?”

Admiral Paris nods and Kathryn walks out of his office, down the corridor, and out the door of Starfleet Command.


	10. Chapter 10

Phoebe’s art studio is the paint-splattered attic of her home in Bloomington. Sculptures, sketches, and items Kathryn can’t identify are on tables, easels, the floor. 

A slim paintbrush lays across Phoebe’s mouth and she removes it as her eyes shift from the landscape she’s creating to the sister recounting frustrations and pacing wherever the cluttered room will allow. When Kathryn finally pauses to take a breath, Phoebe jumps in.

“Honestly, Katie, you could look at it as if they don’t trust you or you could look at it as if they’re trying to trust you again.”

Kathryn’s arms fly into the air. “But the lack of trust is for things I didn’t do.”

“But you would have.”

“That’s not how temporal mechanics works.” Kathryn’s hands find her hips. “Once there’s a change, the whole timeline is different. Even if I were still in the Delta Quadrant, just meeting my counterpart could have resulted in a completely divergent future.”

Phoebe grabs her sister’s wrist. The paint on her brush is purple and Phoebe dabs a tiny dot onto the back of Kathryn’s hand.

“What are you doing?” Kathryn’s eyes flick from the dot to her sister and back.

“That’s a year in the Delta Quadrant.” Phoebe adds dots as she speaks. “That’s another year and another and another.”

When she gets to twenty-three dots, Phoebe stops. 

“Which one?” she asks. 

Kathryn wants to pull her hand away, but her sister’s grip is firm. “Which one, what?”

“Which year was the one that made your counterpart into a criminal? Which year was the one that broke her?”

Kathryn stares at the rows of purple dots.

“Which one, Katie?”

The dots become blurry. 

“I don’t know.”

“And neither does Starfleet. So, whether he’s being a jerk or a sweet little grandpa is up for debate, but Admiral Paris is trying to figure it out and you’re making it harder because you’re fighting him.”

But Kathryn isn’t listening anymore. 

Because she knows exactly which dot broke the admiral from the future.

***

“I really don’t want to go out to Alameda. Can you come here?”

Through the comm screen, Iliam frowns. “It is my preference to take the ferry to the island and spend time together at my house.”

Kathryn didn’t go back to work after she saw Phoebe. There were no meetings scheduled, just the report she doesn’t want to write. 

So Kathryn tried to distract herself. She swam laps, hiked trails, and shot targets. She ran up the steps of the Ixmoja pyramid in Mexico and ziplined over the Arenal volcano in Costa Rica. 

And now she’s tired and cranky. She pushes aside the vase of roses next to her computer terminal and leans forward. 

“You’re a few blocks from my apartment and I’m already here. You could walk over and I’ll replicate whatever you want for dinner.”

As Iliam seems to consider this idea, Kathryn realizes she’s seen him every one of the last five days. 

Yes, she still loves him. 

Yes, the sex was the best, most intense she’s ever had. 

But his indecisiveness right now is too close of a mirror to her own and she’s about to tell him to forget it, they’ll just not spend time together tonight when he speaks. 

“I do not wish to cause offense and I would very much like to have dinner with you, but I cannot stay in San Francisco tonight. May I look forward to seeing you after work tomorrow at the ferry terminal?”

She says yes, cuts the comm, and stares at the dark screen wondering why her eyes are prickling with tears even though she got what she wanted and won’t see him tonight. 

***

Iliam usually stands by the guardrail and looks into the tumbling waves of San Francisco Bay. But he sits at the center of the ferry tonight, slouched on a bench as far away from other people as possible. 

He slept poorly after Kathryn’s night terror. 

He was late for work, an insult to his laboratory colleagues. 

He angered her, but his mental barriers have been up all day and he simply cannot lower them among the many minds that would be in a San Francisco apartment building. 

He caused physical pain to a human last night and today he caused that same human mental pain.

He loves this human and yet he hurt her and not only when he had to, but when he was too tired to explain why he could not spend time with her in the manner she desired. 

This is not the way of his people.

Perhaps his parents are correct. 

Perhaps he should not have come to Earth, but needed to learn this lesson for himself.


	11. Chapter 11

When Kathryn gets to her office, she thinks of Iliam’s books and Phoebe’s dots and the steely eyes of the Admiral Janeway from the future. 

She types as quickly as she can: 

“The decision to destroy the Caretaker’s array was correct. It led to seven of the hardest years of my career — and of my life — but maintaining the balance of power in that region of space was the right thing to do.

“Even if I wanted to believe it was wrong. 

“Four years after I gave that order, I told my first officer destroying the array was a mistake. That’s what I believed. 

“Shortly before leaving the Delta Quadrant, I told my senior staff I didn’t regret my decision to destroy the array. That’s what I believed. 

“I’ve wavered on this decision because it was split-second, momentous, and had wide-reaching implications. Questioning oneself can spur growth. 

“However, too much self-examination can result in fixation, ultimately breaking a person’s will or ability to move forward. Instead, the proper course of action is to use the past as a springboard to understand the present. The present is gigaquads of information about the Delta Quadrant in Starfleet databanks, as many crewmembers as possible reunited with their families, and a journey completed in a tenth of the predicted time.

“I stand by my decision and would tell any captain under my command to trust their instincts and keep learning.”

She files the report and moves on to the next one.

***

Iliam stands in the ferry terminal.

He received a comm call while at work.

There is a dark matter lab position available at Delta IV’s University of Spatial Sciences.

It is not the directorship he wants, the job he has and loves on Earth, but it is home. 

Iliam can go home.

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

“Kathryn!”

He wants to twine his fingers in her hair, to grasp the curve of her rear end, to kiss her lips then taste his way lower. 

But he has become someone he does not recognize because of his association with her and this causes him to wish not to see her, though he loves her with a fervor he did not believe possible. 

“I am distressed and wish to discuss it at my house.”

She frowns. “All right.”

“How was your day?”

And, suddenly, her mouth curls upward like a wave on the waters and Iliam can barely breathe as she says, “Best day at work I’ve had since coming back to Earth, and I have you to thank.”

She tells him how Deltan philosophy helped her answer a question so perplexing that the previous seven years had not yielded an answer. 

She tells him how she used the same philosophy to answer many more questions and she became alarmed when her supervisor did not offer his opinion but was informed he departed the building immediately following something called a morning briefing. 

She is chatty and kind and not at all how he expected after he refused to go to her apartment the night before. 

The entire ferry ride, she is this way and Iliam says little because he has never had what humans call an argument and he does not wish to start one, but Deltan honesty is too powerful for him to be silent for much longer.

They walk through the doorway of his house and Iliam’s mental barriers crumble.

_ Why are you not angry? You asked for me to go to your apartment and I did not explain why I did not give you what you wished._

Her head tilts. _You must have had your reasons. I didn’t want to go to Alameda, so it was an impasse. I wasn’t in a very good mood and I’m sorry if I upset you._

Iliam looks to his ceiling, blinking rapidly. His emotions are too complex for Kathryn to untangle, but she can sense guilt, fear, and shame, and it’s all wrapped up in love.

_ I need your help here, Iliam. I get the impression that something is going on. _

And his mind opens and tells her everything.

A jolt of electric pain sears across Kathryn’s forehead. 

Her fingers fly to her temples and her eyes snap shut.

Queasiness doubles her over and she chokes back bile.

Iliam’s hands go out to help as his chest tightens with a fresh spasm of guilt. He has hurt her again.

_ Stop that. _

He freezes.

_ But I did not intend to — _

_ Of course you didn’t. We’re learning together.  _

“I need to talk.” Kathryn turns away. She clutches bookshelves as she stumbles to the sofa. “I need to think of my words and evaluate them before I speak, all right?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She sits. “First, the mental link overwhelmed me with too much information at once. All right, now we know. Second, you can decline an invitation from me just like you can decline an invitation from any other humanoid. Dating doesn’t mean we’ll always agree. Do you understand?”

He sits next to her. “Yes. However, this is unlike my people.”

“That’s my next point.” Kathryn’s hair swings with a shake of her head. “How does your parents’ anger with you for leaving home match up with Deltan empathy?”

Iliam looks out the window toward the waters. Not the waters he knows so well, but the waters he’s learning here on Earth. “The community is of utmost importance. The Deltan birthrate is low. Our people are slowly dying out and I have not produced a child. This does not trouble me as myself, but as a Deltan it brings me shame to have not assisted in the survival of my people. My parents suffer that shame as well.”

“But you accepted that and left anyway?”

“Yes.”

“And you felt your choice was correct until you noticed you aren’t a Deltan living on Earth, you’re a Deltan picking up human characteristics?”

Iliam nods. “I did not believe I would change here and it saddens me to lose parts of myself.”

“Yes. As you gain the complexity of a citizen of the Federation, not just Delta IV.”

Her arms cross and her chin lowers, but Iliam knows Kathryn is not judging him. She is proud. 

Just as he was proud she could understand and reply through the telepathic link. 

They make each other proud. 

They help each other become better, more nuanced people. 

Iliam’s exhale is deep. The tightness in his chest eases.

“I do not wish to return to Delta IV to accept the job there,” he says. “I prefer my work here and your companionship.”

One of Kathryn’s smiles appears and Iliam would deem this smile his favorite, but he thinks that every time. His fingers twine in her hair and his mouth presses to hers.

Her taste is unfamiliar. 

_ Coffee_, she tells him through the mental link, her lips parting to take in his tongue. _It’s called coffee and I used to drink it all the time and I started again today. Do you like it?_

_ Very much. I wish to taste you and experience this coffee as often as you will allow. _

_ Oh, that’s going to be a lot. _

_ I am the most fortunate citizen in the entirety of the Federation. _

_ I’ll share that honor with you, my love. _

She gasps and begins to cough.

“Do you require a glass of water?” Iliam stands. 

“No.” Her coughs subside as Kathryn motions for him to sit again. “I just figured out something else for my work — the value of sharing things of importance with the people we care about.”

_ You think about work often, my love. _

_ Do you forgive me? _

_ I forgive you for unintended errors and you forgive me the same and we remain in love with each other? _

_ That’s the plan. _

_ Yes. I am very pleased with this plan.  _

_ Me, too. _

He sends her a mental image of them on the sofa, only they’re both naked. She’s straddling his lap, shifting up and down with him inside her. He’s biting wherever he can reach so her mind won’t detach and his index finger is in her mouth but she’s crying out in pleasure and the wet finger slips lower and he uses it to touch her to bring her even higher. 

_ Oh, God, yes.  _

***

It takes the next few workdays, but Kathryn finishes nearly all seven years of her logs. All that’s left is the decision Admiral Paris deemed her worst — to attempt to destroy the Borg transwarp hub only if her entire senior staff agreed.

She begins to type: 

“A captaincy is not a democracy. Command School emphasizes this, the hierarchy demands it, and yet I ignored this fundamental rule of protocol in what turned out to be, arguably, my last command decision. 

“And I would do it again.

“All starships are a community and _Voyager_ was an extreme example. Cut off from our loved ones and Starfleet for the vast majority of seven years, my leadership saw demands I never could have imagined. Was every choice correct? No. I learned what not to do in instances including pursuing Seska and the Kazon into a trap, selectively erasing the Doctor’s memory, and other command decisions noted in my extensive reports. 

“But allowing my senior staff, officers I had come to trust and value and regard as my surrogate family, a say in the life or death of the community they helped enrich every day for seven years?

“I owed them that.

“And if another captain told me of a difficult decision in which the captain believed the viewpoints of the crew were as important or more important than the viewpoint of the captain, then I would support that captain all the way to the senior admiralty and remind everyone that Starfleet is built on the fundamentals of science, and that means when a hypothesis, such as the importance of an unyielding command structure, is proven false, then we move forward with that new information in our continuing pursuit to better ourselves as officers and as people.”

She files the report. 

Five minutes later, her door chimes. 

Admiral Paris extends his hand. “Welcome home, Kathryn. It’s good to have you back.”


	12. Chapter 12

It takes two months for Kathryn to realize there’s no point in keeping her apartment if Iliam isn’t comfortable sleeping there. The day her things are beamed in is the day his house becomes his home. He positions her vase of roses on the kitchen counter and asks if he can comm his father and introduce them.

Kathryn says yes and while Enoi doesn’t seem overjoyed to meet this human of whom his son is so enamored, the father and son begin to communicate again and Iliam is pleased.

She has night terrors a few times a week. After one — a “captain to the bridge” that had her halfway to the turbolift that wasn’t there — Iliam pointed something out as she climbed back into bed. 

_ A philosopher on Delta IV called this ‘a walk on uneven sand.’ After learning to live through difficulty, a person must re-learn the ease of life when the difficulty passes. _

_ How do I do that, re-learn the ease of life? _

He kisses her forehead. _You do what you’ve always done. You trust your brilliant mind to be your guide._

Kathryn is almost asleep again when her thought touches him, light as a feather. _I trust your brilliant mind to be my guide._

It takes another month for Kathryn to tell Phoebe about the sex.

“Holy fuck,” Phoebe mutters as they walk the cornfields. 

“Keep this to yourself, all right?” Kathryn stares at the dirt path ahead. “It’s no one’s business.”

“Are you kidding?” Phoebe says. “When I took that jewelry class, our instructor said Delta IV has a unique ecosystem. Word gets out about this and it’ll be trampled by sex-crazed humanoids from half the quadrant.”

Kathryn bursts out laughing. “It’s not that simple.”

There’s a faraway look in Phoebe’s eyes. “Tell me again, Katie. I love my human, but your Deltan is something else.”

Now both sisters have the same dreamy gaze. “He is, isn’t he?”

Iliam has a research trip and he’s gone for three weeks. There’s no communication close to MACHOs and Kathryn misses him to distraction. 

And he misses her more than he’s ever missed Delta IV.

Her night terrors become occasional. 

When Kathryn leaves on a tour of Starfleet research vessels, she’s gone for a month. Iliam is so jittery he sees a doctor who recommends early morning exercise near water to give Iliam time outside typical of the Deltan lifestyle without a need for mental barriers. 

Iliam grows to enjoy the circumference run of Alameda Island and asks Kathryn to join him.

This special time together, usually just the two of them on the running trail, becomes their treasured ritual to start the day. 

When Iliam has his next research trip, Kathryn runs the island on her own and when she is away on a mission to investigate activity in sector 010, Iliam sends her a holo-image of the sunrise to remind her that he is at home waiting for her. 

Because Earth is a home to him now. 

The morning exercise gives Iliam energy to socialize in the evenings, and they attend and host dinner parties with Iliam’s laboratory leader colleagues. 

The morning exercise gives Kathryn an appreciation for the waters, something she never cared much about until Iliam, but now finds as important to her well-being as the stars.

The stars she has learned to treasure again as she sees them through the walls and ceiling of their bedroom, through the viewports of ships that take her away and bring her back again, through Iliam’s research as he gets closer and closer to an answer on disparities in gravimetric forces among similar-sized MACHOs.

When one of her Starfleet missions is scheduled in a sector near Delta IV, Iliam asks Kathryn if she is willing to meet his parents and the people of his village. She is, and queries Starfleet Medical. Mental communication with Iliam has made her brain more capable, but also more vulnerable. Her Esper rating, Starfleet’s measurement of psionic potential such as telepathy, has shot up twenty points to the top of the human scale. 

The doctors fuss and argue and end up providing Kathryn with a cortical suppressant they say will protect her mind from the population’s telepathic and empathic communication. As they ride a transport ship’s descent onto Delta IV, Kathryn tilts her head for Iliam to affix the medical device to her neck.

But the suppressant works too well.

By the time they step off the ship, she’s loopy, and though Kathryn replies correctly to simple questions like her name or where she is, when Iliam quizzes her on basic math or science her eyes squint with effort but she can’t provide answers. 

The next transport ship doesn’t arrive until the following day.

The Deltan custom is to greet newcomers and Kathryn returns hugs from adults and waggles her fingers at children and babies. Her lack of mental energy earns Iliam concerned looks from his community.

Kathryn doesn’t notice. She’s too busy gazing about in wonderment at the white sand, the azure sky, and the waters she’s only seen in Iliam’s books and holo-images. Palm leaves rustle and a Deltan seagull arcs past.

“It’s really, really pretty here,” she slurs, almost tripping over her feet with the effort of walking and looking around. “Wow, this is a pretty, pretty village.”

So Iliam introduces this almost-drooling idiot to his parents. 

And they adore her. 

Enoi knows from comm calls that Kathryn is intelligent. To see her smiling stupidly at the son Enoi worried he would lose to Earth shames the elder Deltan. Enoi sees in front of him the beauty that exists in compromise, in two people of different backgrounds gaining new perspectives as they create a love unique to their convergence. 

The verbal conversation for Kathryn’s benefit doesn’t falter as Enoi telepathically tells his son, _You do not need my blessing, Iliam, but you have it._

But before Iliam can reply, Iliam’s mother, Olli, sighs. _No grandchildren._

Barriers to Deltan-Deltan conception are high enough. The odds of a Deltan-human baby are infinitesimal. Iliam and Kathryn have discussed this and accept it. But Olli has lost something she had always held a drop of the waters’ hope in her heart to enjoy. Her eyes move to the woman with hair on her head and though this woman’s brain is temporarily blocked by medication, Olli can still sense Kathryn’s emotions — the love Kathryn has for Iliam that is so strong it pulls on Olli’s own heart. 

_ The Attachment?_ she asks her son. 

And Iliam’s joy brings his mother to laughter and this sets off his father and the three Deltans laugh and the human has no idea what’s going on but she laughs, too, because her mind may be simple for the moment but she knows enough that this is a happy sound. 

The next day, as Delta IV recedes through the transport ship’s viewports, Iliam pulls the cortical suppressant from Kathryn’s neck. They are in a private compartment and she inhales sharply and glances around as her brain normalizes.

“What do you remember?” he asks. 

Not-red not-brown hair swings forward as her head falls into her hands. “Everything. It was like thinking through mud. I appreciate your parents understanding that I wasn’t myself. I shudder to think what the village community must believe you’ve gotten yourself into.” She looks up. “Where did you go this morning?”

He pulls two silver necklaces from his pocket. They are thin and delicate and from each one hangs a luminescent gemstone. Iliam had the village gemologist create the matching stones to precise specifications with swirls of blue like the waters of Delta IV and green like the land of Earth’s Bloomington, Indiana.

“I went to procure these for what Deltans call the Attachment. The Attachment is for two people who love all, yet have found particular devotion within each other. It is a life-bond and the Attached wear necklaces to signify their union.”

Her fingertip traces a blue-green gemstone and her eyes shine as Kathryn says, “Humans call that marriage.”

Iliam nods. “I have researched your customs. I was hoping with this, as in many things, we could merge our worlds.”

He drops to one knee.

“Kathryn, will you be my Attached?”

His mental barriers are in place. But he sees her lips part and her chest rise and fall and Iliam could swear he feels Kathryn’s joy. “Nothing would bring me greater delight, Iliam.”

His lips press to hers and fingers fumble to clasp each other’s necklaces and they both smile like fools as they plan a quick Earth ceremony at San Francisco City Hall.

And one hell of a honeymoon in their very own bedroom with the stars and the waters and the time together they cherish. 

***

“I have met people of importance to you at other gatherings. This will be of similar good cheer.”

Kathryn turns so Iliam can zip up her dress. “But most of the _Voyager_ crew will be there tonight. There haven’t been this many of us together in a long time.”

In uniform, her Attachment necklace is hidden under a Starfleet turtleneck. In civilian clothes, it shines, free and proud. Iliam kisses where the silver Kathryn has worn for ten months rests on pale skin at the back of her neck, then he angles the zipper upward. 

“I anticipate a pleasurable evening with all of them.”

And he’s right. Chakotay and Seven’s wedding is a huge party with liquor-enhanced instant friendships among archeologists, _Voyager_ crewmembers, and one very amused Daystrom Institute dark matter researcher. 

“This one is called?” Iliam asks Kathryn as he stares at the man dancing with more abandon than Iliam usually sees from humans.

“Harry Kim.” She sighs at the arms and legs flailing about the dance floor. “And I think he’s had more to drink tonight than he did the entire time we were in the Delta Quadrant.”

Crewmembers introduce themselves and most go soft-eyed at Iliam, but he has more experience with non-Deltans now and quickly steers conversation to diversionary topics. 

When they get home, Kathryn can sense Iliam’s mental barriers lowering. 

_ You are sad. Why did you hide this during the party? _

_ I didn’t know I would be sad until I saw them all again. I thought I would be happy. But it reminded me of those seven years of loneliness, of needing to keep some part of myself separate from people I cared about.  _

_ You are not lonely anymore, my love. _

She sends him a mental image of them in bed, wrapped up in each other, breathing deeply because they’re asleep, her head on his chest and his hand tangled in her hair.

_ You’re right, and I’ve read enough of your books to recognize I should use this glimpse of my past to lead me to better understanding of my present — when my love for you is greater than every light year that used to separate us.  _

His fingers lace with hers to walk upstairs together.

She hasn’t had a night terror in months and, though she worries she will that night, Kathryn sleeps soundly in her husband’s arms.


	13. Chapter 13

Kathryn and Iliam been married for six years. 

With assistance from Starfleet Medical, they have made seven trips to Delta IV and Kathryn retained more of her intellect each time. She’s asked Iliam if some part of him resents that they can’t live on Delta IV. He’s said his home is with her, wherever they both want to be.

They have attended fourteen _Voyager_ crew lifecycle events including Harry Kim’s wedding and a naming ceremony for one of Tuvok’s grandchildren. 

They have eaten hundreds of meals with Gretchen, Phoebe, Oscar, Warren, plus baby Blake.

But Iliam has not yet experienced the human custom of the high school class reunion.

“Because it’s dumb,” Kathryn says as she fastens her uniform. “I wouldn’t have agreed to go except the committee asked me to speak. The Academy Institute prepares students for Starfleet, so I’m hardly the first admiral to graduate, but I’m the first from my class.”

He hasn’t gotten dressed from his sonic shower and Iliam begins to unfasten Kathryn’s uniform, to kiss her neck, her chest, the soft skin between her breasts as he removes her bra. “Because you are the most intelligent and the most beautiful and the most …”

_ We’re going to be late. _

_ If we forgo the transport vessel for the transporter, we will arrive on time. I will endure discomfort later to ensure delights now. _

_ You have a deal. _

Her uniform and panties fall to the floor and Iliam’s hands are strong on her hips. He lifts her, pulls her naked body to his, and her legs know to wrap around his waist. 

_ For what do you wish, my love? _

She starts to shake. All these years and she can be with him in a crowded room, talk with him about anything, read in bed with just their legs touching, but the sex has remained intense.

_ I wish for you. For whatever you want. _

He dips at the nightstand to pull her bracelet from the drawer. It’s a little thing they picked up in a shop in the North Beach area of San Francisco. A flick of the control and the bracelet lights up red. They call it a bracelet because at first she wore it on a wrist, but the device can be enlarged to fit her waist or shrunk to encircle her tiniest toe. The important part is the pain — searingly hot on her skin, no impact on his.

Her back lands on the bed and he slips the bracelet over her ankle and up, pausing to kiss her knee. The bracelet stops where her leg meets her body.

_ Is this pleasing? _

_ I need you. _

She’s so tight already. 

There’s no time for foreplay.

Her rear end is at the edge of the bed and, standing, he enters her and she cries out, wrapping her legs around his shower-clean torso, curves and muscles she knows and loves. He crests and recedes, the motion that was strange to her at first, but now she needs like air.

He’s groaning. 

_ I could not look at you for another second without sharing delights.  _

_ You always have the best ideas, my love.  _

She can’t move much in this position, but she tilts her pelvis and each crest is electric and when his legs begin to tremble and the sounds pulled from deep inside her grow louder and as pleasure rips through them both and he collapses onto her and she strokes his bald head and there is love and ecstasy and joy in their minds, pure happiness bubbles from her stomach and she laughs.

***

They arrive twenty minutes before Kathryn is due to speak, and she’s whisked off by the reunion committee. Iliam can tolerate transporting better than he used to, but rematerialization always leaves him a little unsettled. He sits at one of the large, round tables in the room.

“Hey, buddy, I don’t remember you from high school. Who are you here with?”

The man is wide with muscles. He has inky-blue eyes and hair that may once have been dark but is now mostly grey. He wears a Federation Navy uniform and sits in the chair next to Iliam’s.

“My wife is speaking. It is my pleasure to be here with her and to meet those with whom she attended this school.”

A low whistle emanates from the large human. “You married Kathryn Janeway.”

Iliam does not wish to cause offense, so he does not point out that they married each other. But he nods. 

“Nice going, buddy.” The large human’s hand clasps Iliam’s shoulder. “I’m Cheb Packer. She must have told you about me.”

Iliam cannot lie. He never has. But politeness would dictate kindness toward this human who believes he has been discussed.

Fortunately, an introductory speaker approaches the podium and silence becomes appropriate.

When Kathryn begins her remarks, mostly appreciation of the school’s preparation for the rigors of Starfleet Academy and a Starfleet career, Iliam remembers how he first thought of her voice — a rainstorm on the palm-leaf roof of an island hut. He will never tire of this voice, he is sure. 

After the applause, she greets other alumni and a few current students who assisted in organizing the event.

When she nears the table where Iliam sits, her steps cease and then begin again.

“Cheb Packer,” she says, her voice higher than usual. “How are you after all these years?”

“Great!” His chest puffs. “The Navy is where I belong and you have the Starfleet career that you always wanted. Looks like we’re both excelling.”

“Please,” Iliam’s thick eyebrows knit, “I was to understand this school prepares all students for Starfleet Academy. Is there a Naval course of study as well?”

Kathryn’s lips curl upward, yet she bites them together. Iliam knows this means she has found what he said humorous, but it is not appropriate to ask her why until they are home. 

Before Iliam can change the subject, Cheb says, “Starfleet is based on the Navy’s rank and ship classification systems. I like being part of the original organization, not the copy.”

An event organizer pulls Kathryn away before anyone can reply. Iliam follows and they leave soon after. At home, his curiosity cannot be denied.

_ Your classmate. An unusual person. _

_ I wish you could have met some of the nicer ones, but most of them are on Starfleet assignment far from Earth. _

And, mentally, she shows him all of it — how Cheb was her first love, how his overconfident proclamations made her doubt herself, how she broke up with him over and over again, how grateful she is to have matured past high school romance.

Kathryn hadn’t thought of Cheb in decades, and her cheeks flush with embarrassment at Iliam’s pity.

So he shows her his first love, a willowy Deltan who worked with him on the seaweed boat. Iliam lets Kathryn see giddy moments in the berths below deck, dreams for the future shared under the vast sky full of stars, and the times Iliam’s love had sex with someone else and Iliam’s stomach burned with hurt even though they were far too young to consider the Attachment. When Iliam went to university, his love stayed behind and, six months later, entered into the Attachment with another Deltan.

It’s not that Iliam and Kathryn never discussed former lovers. If someone came to mind, they would share verbally or telepathically. But neither had considered these long-ago loves in so long that it almost feels like these are other people’s lives.

_ This is better_ comes the thought and it’s from both of them at once and gratitude for each other and their life together has them dizzy. 

***

On the morning of their anniversary, Kathryn straddles Iliam awake. Her legs are warm on his torso and her breasts tickle his chest as she sucks on his earlobe, grazing it gently with her teeth.

_ Happy seven years, my love. I was isolated from my home for this amount of time, and now you’ve been my home for as long as I was away. _

_ Happy seven years to a woman more brilliant and beautiful than any star in the galaxy. I love you. _

Her excitement for this milestone is kinetic and he’s as susceptible to her emotions as she is to his. His fingertips search her neck, her shoulders, each arm and down every finger, then up again to finally locate her bracelet around her waist. 

_ You found it! _

_ I always do. _

She wriggles down and Iliam and his Attached are together in body and mind and, as they move, they are the waves and the waters and the land.

***

Kathryn and Iliam have been married for seven years and four weeks when Iliam records a subspace message from his quarters on the _Daystrom-H_. He speaks into the screen.

“I miss you, my love. I will send another letter once the ship re-establishes communication.

“If my hypothesis is correct, the MACHO is in fact three smaller MACHOs trapped in each other’s gravimetric forces. I know this has never been observed, but this new laboratory ship will allow for closer study and I am eager to utilize its capabilities. 

“I hope resubmission of your proposal for Starfleet to map the Paulson Nebula receives the approval you seek. If Phoebe has her baby before we speak again, please remember to bring the balm my parents sent for any pain she may have.

“I love you.”

He encodes and transmits the message, then one to his parents. Not more than an hour later, right on schedule, the _Daystrom-H_ loses communication as gravimetric forces intensify. 

The bridge of the laboratory ship is ringed by science stations and Iliam hurries to his.

“Gravimetric readings off the charts,” one of his assistants informs him.

The researchers spend the next week studying the massive MACHO. Their scans discover anomalies they cannot explain, but, as the ship presses closer, Iliam is sure the tools onboard will yield an answer.

It is the middle of the night when he jolts awake to klaxons and ship’s lighting that has gone crimson.

He finds his clothes and hurries to take his station. It occurs to him in the turbolift that this is like one of the night terrors Kathryn used to have. But when Iliam steps onto the bridge, he stops.

The viewscreen display is unmistakable. 

The MACHO is, indeed, three MACHOs.

They have surrounded the ship, making it impossible to move to any side, up, or down.

There is no way to disperse gravimetric forces.

The captain and operations officer explain about a sudden surge in antithorons from a nearby singularity. The antithorons bounced off the ship’s deflector dish and, redirected, pulled apart MACHOs that had been nested inside each other, possibly for millennia. 

The _Daystrom-H_ was built to withstand the pressures of one MACHO. 

Three will rip it apart. 

Within minutes.

The captain makes a ship-wide announcement. 

Iliam can’t feel his body.

He somehow steps to his station. He double- and triple-checks for an escape route, a method of MACHO re-compression, shield enhancements, communication options. He runs simulations that fail to find a way to use a warp jump to fling away escape pods or to launch a buoy containing research results. He computes whether the transporter could possibly beam an escape pod and then personnel out of range of gravimetric danger.

The heels of tan hands press against eyelids that have closed.

Iliam mentally recites a short prayer for those about to die.

Officers stay at their posts, reporting failure of one system after another. 

Iliam would not be on this ship if he had stayed on Delta IV.

But then he would not have met Kathryn.

Iliam would not be on this ship if he had returned to Delta IV when he had the opportunity.

But then he and Kathryn would not have continued to date. 

He thinks of her, his Attached without whom his life would not have been as he would have wished. Her night terrors eased when she relaxed, as Starfleet suggested.

This moment is a night terror, only Iliam knows he is awake.

He lowers his mental barriers. The emotions of those onboard flow through him and Iliam does not try to understand or interpret their feelings. 

He loosens muscles in his feet, his calves, his thighs. His hips settle and his chest breathes easy. His hands lose their tension and his shoulders and neck go soft. 

His fingers find his Attachment necklace and he pictures Kathryn, her eyes blue like the waters of Delta IV, and, with his last breath before the ship implodes, Iliam breathes her name.

***

The morning briefing drags and Kathryn wonders if it’s her perception.

God, she misses Iliam.

Three more days and the _Daystrom-H_ should re-establish communication.

Three more days and she’ll be able to tell him Phoebe had the baby, Gretchen finally agreed to see a doctor for hypertension, and the galactic market on Divisadero Street had Deltan seaweed that’s now waiting for Iliam in their home’s food stasis unit. Her proposal to map the Paulson Nebula was denied, again, but Starfleet Academy asked her to shift from teaching Introduction to Borg Studies to a new Advanced Borg Studies course and Kathryn can’t wait to tell Iliam her ideas. She’s eager to hear about his mission, too.

Three more days.

A lieutenant enters the briefing room and crouches to whisper in Admiral Paris’ ear. The admiral pales and glances at Kathryn, then hurries out with the lieutenant.

That was strange.

The briefing ends and Kathryn is walking to her office when the same lieutenant matches her stride and instructs her to report to conference room eight. Usually a lower-ranked officer will accompany an admiral but this one peels off, not looking at Kathryn.

Also strange.

Something’s wrong.

Her fingers prickle for a phaser, so Kathryn stops by her office and grabs one. An abundance of caution, perhaps, but she tucks the weapon into her sleeve, her thumb on the trigger. It’s set to stun, but she can change that if she needs to.

The door opens and, sitting around a table in conference room eight, she sees Admiral Paris, two senior officials from the Daystrom Institute, and her mother and sister. 

Gretchen and Phoebe never go to Starfleet Command except to attend a promotion or some other ceremony. They hate coming to this building because it reminds them of when Starfleet summoned them to say Edward Janeway’s ship had crashed and he —

And Kathryn knows. 

Her superior officer is here. 

Daystrom people are here. 

Her next of kin are here. 

This is standard procedure and she wants to stun every one of them, even Phoebe who just had her baby a few days ago and shouldn’t even be traveling yet, shouldn’t have red-rimmed eyes and a quivering chin and a hand that grasps their mother’s so tightly that Kathryn can see every white knuckle.

Her Attachment necklace is cold on her skin.

As the phaser drops from her fingers, as mouths move in front of her with no sound, as her throat constricts, she pictures Ilam’s green eyes, the eyes she will never see again except in holo-images and recordings, and all Kathryn Janeway can think is _I can’t. I can’t. I can’t._


End file.
